


Roll of Thunder

by whiskey_tango_foxtrot



Series: Roll of Thunder [1]
Category: Full Metal Panic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But then maybe Sousuke shouldn't have been playing with a terrorist in the first place, But who am I to judge?, M/M, Military Time-Out, Sexy times to be had by all, Sousuke/Gauron, i'm terrible at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskey_tango_foxtrot/pseuds/whiskey_tango_foxtrot
Summary: The last chapters of "Roll of Thunder" from FF.net.Could also be called "Sousuke Is Sick Of Y'all's Shit, 'kay?"As always, rated for Gauron's dirty, dirty mouth. But this time, also rated for what he does with it.





	1. Try-Again Tuesdays

**Author's Note:**

> So let's get this part out of the way: if you don't like this pairing, you may be excused from the room. We're all adults here.  
> The work that this is attached to, if you don't want to read 70k words to understand a few chapters here, is basically that Sousuke and Gauron had a pre-existing relationship, and after the first season, there were all kinds of shenanigans... with consequences. This picks up a year into those consequences. It can almost be considered a stand-alone.  
> Also, Sousuke's gone through a lot in those previous 20 chapters. I tried to keep everyone as in-character as I could, but I also claim artistic license. Gimme some slack.  
> I spent a lot of time on "Roll of Thunder" working towards what I'm posting here. And you know what? I started it when I was twenty. There's a lot of it I wish I could tweak, like some of my impulse control (and that first-person narrative, which will not be found here), and it was never a perfect story, but it was mine. It grew up as I grew up, and it was mine. I wish I had the time to rework it, but it was either rewrite it or finish it.  
> I finished it. Here ya go.

Vicente Flores had been following Sousuke Sagara's career from the moment he'd been granted access to the highest echelon of Mithiril's highly classified footage. He'd been on a career track to some higher IT program since he was twelve, and beaten up at school for exactly half of that. There was no glory in being a certified genius who would probably - eventually - build a national defense system that would change the face of global thermonuclear war inside-out.

Sagara was a different kind of genius. He was the kind who never got his ass kicked from one end of Caracas to the other - he was the one kicking. (Or, it was at least a safe assumption that he probably had a different definition of the term "bullied".) From what Vicente could discern, after hundreds of hours of observation, Sagara was untouchable: calm, unyielding, firm, unimpressed with anyone's shit. He operated his massive machine with the ease of a F1 driver - and Vicente had studied every moment of both occupations, as he couldn't do them himself. The man had, on multiple occasions, stared down the barrel of guns that could eradicate entire cities, and yet his voice had never wavered. If he made one demand of a foe, he didn't make a second. As far as Sousuke Sagara was concerned, his only request was that you disengage your Arm Slave, and he only made it  _once_.

So to work with him now - now, as the Chidori papers were moving from pipe dream to field testing - was both a dream come true and an exercise in futility.

Vicente had daydreamed about talking to the esteemed Sergeant Sagara for many years, and had thought he might have deep insight about bravery, fortitude, and maybe how not to get beat up in a McDonald's parking lot at the ripe age of 35.

Sergeant Sagara didn't end up having that much to say about anything, really. Not in the beginning. He ate most of his meals alone and spent the majority of his down time with himself. Never mind that it was Antarctica, and physical human beings were more endangered than  _fucking polar bears_. They were each the best at what they did, probably on a global scale. Vicente Flores could look at a notebook full of Whispered ramblings and tell you what they meant in under an hour, with a blueprint. Sousuke Sagara could rend a major city down to the studs in twenty minutes. It took normal people at least a day to do either of those things. It was something they had in common.

The flip side of this fact was that while Vicente had been the loudest voice in getting this facility fully funded and built, Sagara was grossly overqualified for his position here, and everyone knew it. Considering how many AS teams were deployed globally in ongoing hostile situations, one would think he would be best utilized somewhere like Syria, or the DMZ. As far as anyone knew, he was the single-best pilot Mithril had on hand - the best anyone had on hand. And yet here he was, at a remote R&D facility at the bottom of the world, testing and helping tweak advanced LAMDA drivers as they were installed. 

Since Kaname Chidori's sketches from her time in captivity had been interpreted - by Vicente himself, among others - advancements in at least the LAMDA drivers had exploded like it was the industrial revolution all over, but with black technology that was pulled from the ether by teenagers. Mithril, with the help of a UN coalition agreement, had secured funding for a two-pronged approach to this unfolding revolution, which was to have one engineering team start building the new drivers, and a completely separate engineering team retro-fit existing Arm Slaves with the new drivers. Where Sagara came into play was that he operated each recommissioned unit personally to ensure the extra equipment could be accessed, and then to act as a battering ram for AS pilots who had never previously been able to connect to a LAMDA driver before. (It was purely research, but after watching Sagara every day for months take down everyone who got into a mech across from him, he suspected the sergeant was treating the whole thing as a back-door training program for young pilots.)

As an honest-to-God fanboy of Sagara's Arm Slave skills and experience, it was exhilarating to watch him climb into a mech every day and do what he did best. But it was a waste of his abilities. If Vicente was overqualified for his position, then Sagara was Einstein teaching middle school algebra.

He didn't talk about it, but everyone suspected Sagara was assigned to the team as some kind of punishment. No word came from the mainland, not even rumors, but there was no other reason why Einstein would be assigned to such a small group. Sure, his experience with the LAMDA drivers was indisputably unsurpassed, but the whole point of the two programs was to make the enhancements accessible to all AS pilots, not just a few. 

He liked the end of the daily drills almost as much as he liked watching the fluidity Sagara had, the absolute mastery of each machine he operated. At first, Vicente had tried to convince him to ride back to base with the team in the drift runners, as it was nearly a mile from the testing site, but he always declined in favor of walking. In Antarctica.

One day, after months of field tests, he finally handed the keys to the runner over to his film crew and approached the solitary sergeant and asked, "So, why the walk across a frozen tundra instead of a quick jog with a combustion engine? Heaters and coffee happen quicker that way."

Sagara had shrugged. "I suppose I like the simplicity."

"If I promise to keep it simple, would you like company?" he asked, as casually as he could.

A moment of contemplation. "I... suppose I would not mind."

That day was the first day Vicente accompanied Sagara on his solitary strolls back to the main facility, and from then on, he made the stroll daily. They didn't talk much at first, and didn't really get past anything more intimate than Sagara's assessment of the day's pilots, or the performance of a newly fitted AS for a few weeks. Finally, Sagara broke the relative silence:

"I was raised in the desert. It had simplicity, too. I suppose it's just what I'm used to."

He nodded and said nothing.

The next day, he spoke again.

"I received word from my former commander," he began. "My assignment here has been upgraded to indefinite, so it seems we will be working together for more than the original year."

Vicente glanced at him in surprise, although there wasn't much to see under all the gear. "Are they going to let you take leave at some point?" he asked. "At least go home for a week or two?"

"I don't know that I would call it home," he admitted. "I certainly had a residence to facilitate my security detail duties... My only regret is that I bought some decorative foliage to liven up the space before my -"

A harsh silence, then, " _Reassignment_ ," Sagara spat.

Vicente gave it another few minutes before he spoke again. "Anyone special waiting for you there?"

That earned him a sharp, surprised noise. It took Sagara a minute to reply. "I've never had anyone who waited for me," he said carefully. "I knew - once, there was someone who just -  _happened_ , from time to time, for better or worse - usually worse -" now a frustrated sigh. "But never one who waited, no."

*

There was a marked difference between the Sousuke Sagara of Mithril's extensive archival footage, and the Sousuke Sagara of Antarctica. The sergeant that Vicente had binge-watched was many things: youthfully fearless, determined, regulated by a nearly manic discipline under almost all circumstances. There had been some flukes, of course - his brittle control had shattered on a few occasions, but when tasked with protecting a priceless mind like Kaname Chidori's, in addition to being a priceless asset himself, that was to be expected.

The Sousuke Sagara who now trudged through the snow in 80 pounds of life-preserving equipment and spoke to him in lilting Japanese over a headset was not the same person. He had the same unyielding mindset, the same refusal to be defeated by each new AS pilot who hoped to best him. And honestly, he made them better pilots for it. He was still disciplined, rigid, blunt, and often completely oblivious to basic social cues and colloquialisms. 

 _Patience_  and  _maturity_ sprung to mind, honestly.  _Weary._ The Sousuke Sagara of times past had a determined drive and no tolerance for social norms, whereas this Sagara slowly began picking up on interpersonal nuance, and even some sarcasm. But there was a dark undercurrent when his words weren't literal, so his sarcasm was often met with awkward silence and unease.

He was more reserved about all of that now, though. He still presented as odd and a man out of time and place, but he just seemed... tired. Of what, he couldn't say, but it was there. Wary of anyone who was over-friendly, which worked hard against Helga in the cooling/ventilation department, who was sweet on him. The manic, rigid discipline was still evident when he was in his AS - an outdated model that he often insisted on using for drills, though it was practically a M9 with glitter. The LAMDA driver still insisted on syncing exclusively with one driver, for heaven's sake.

His efforts to make no waves unfortunately made him a very big, quiet fish in a very cold pond.

*

There was some commotion at the main research facility one afternoon, as he and Sagara concluded their daily trek across the blinding ice by shedding their extensive safety equipment one bulky piece at a time.

His assistant, a sharp science officer from Okinawa, was in the middle of a very effusive apology to a man sitting easily on a discarded turbine, which was still worth millions of dollars despite being deemed ineffective. He and Sagara drew up short, their twin expressions of surprise reflected, in fine detail, in the man's mirrored Aviators. 

He was still shedding his own gear, but Vicente could clearly see a multitude of decorations on a uniform peeking out from under his parka.  _Fuck_. They'd already had one quarterly inspection, and there had been no formal request filed - this wasn't _fair_!

"General Chen, sir, from the Department of Arms and Enhanced Deployment," Amari introduced, visibly flustered.

He and the surrounding engineers snapped to an immediate solute. "Sir," he declared. "Welcome to our facility. Chief Science Engineer and Commanding Officer Vicente Flores, at your disposal."

Sagara did not snap to attention. He looked like he'd swallowed a bag of broken glass.

He shot Sagara an alarmed glance, and everyone held their breath as they waited for him to come to attention. There was a tangible spell hanging in the air, and for a moment it seemed like  _this_ was the moment it was going to get uncomfortable, but then he raised a hand in a barely-passable salute, and some part of the spell was broken.

The General smiled, and Vicente's gut churned with unexpected apprehension. "At ease, all. I'm not here to cause alarm."

"My only cause for alarm," he replied carefully, "is that you're sitting on a piece of equipment that is still worth millions, even as scrap. If we can't use it, we find someone who can... As long as it's kept in pristine condition."

The general sized him up. "I haven't done any damage that Windex can't fix, I assure you."

Vicente hesitated in surprise - there was something very familiar about this man. He couldn't place what it was, but the more he spoke, the more Vicente was sure he'd encountered him before. "It won't be a problem, sir," he said slowly. "We're just very protective of every piece of equipment here. We can't help it."

"I was just telling the General, we hadn't been informed of his visit, so we're not completely prepared to accommodate someone of his rank, but he's more than welcome, and we can  provide anything he needs," rambled Amari. "I mean, as we just had an official inspection a few months ago -"

"Very good, Amari," Vicente cut him off gently. "How can the Tundra Titans be of assistance of you, sir?"

"Tundra Titans," he repeated, his eyebrows hiking, his gaze raking the team before him with uncanny thoroughness. "Why not. Team-building, camaraderie, I get it." He pulled his sunglasses off and began to polish them with his uniform jacket absently. "Look. My department has designs on purchasing about 75 of the AS units you're working on, and my superiors want to know what we're buying. I had to go through some back-channels to get authorization to even set foot on the continent, but inspections are in order, so here I am."

"We'll get appropriate quarters set up for you, sir, but it may take awhile," he cautioned.

"Take all the time you need," he said dryly. "I can keep myself entertained. Again, this is a buyer's inspection, not Mithril quality control, but I would appreciate an informal tour out of personal curiosity. I had to get approval from a lot of very important people to even get GPS coordinates for your facility, let alone access to come personally, so I might as well make the most of it."

A strange glance now, one that set off alarms for Vicente. 

"You're... Sagara, isn't it?" the General asked, with a wide smile. A predatory smile. "Sergeant  _Sousuke Sagara_. No one can quite determine whether or not you're a hero, can they?"

He glanced over at Sagara quickly. 

"It's not my place to say, sir," he replied carefully, eyes and tone guarded. "I'm afraid I'm simply a soldier."

"I've been read into your extensive file," the General replied, "and I'm _intimately_ acquainted with your AS expertise. I don't think anyone would say you were simply a soldier."

Sagara stayed silent, his guard still firmly up. The newcomer's gaze was too intense for Vicente's liking, and he wondered again what Sagara had done to earn this kind of exile, and who he had angered in the process.

His companion gave no indication that anything unusual was going on, but his gut disagreed. He took a few casual steps to put Sagara just barely behind him. "Sergeant Sagara has been an invaluable member of our team," he said immediately. "His expertise with Arm Slaves and the LAMDA driver have proven to be a key component in our research and development. We would still be drawing pictures in the sand with sticks if it weren't for him."

"You're telling me something I already know,” he rumbled, and even though he was responding to Vicente, he was speaking directly to Sagara. "So how do you feel about this arrangement, Sergeant? Do you find it to be beneficial?"

Vicente didn't dare turn and look at Sagara directly, but he saw enough from the corner of his eye to know that something was wrong. And still that voice...

"Anything I can do to help, sir," Sagara replied carefully, an odd tone to his own voice, and even stranger posturing - defensive, but rigid. A challenge. He'd gotten very good at reading Sagara in nearly a year, simply because he gave up so little.

"Good man," Chen declared, clapping him on the shoulder. "I could use a dozen more like you." Sagara jerked away like he'd grabbed a live wire.

"Let me escort you across the facility," Vicente suggested carefully, "show you the progress we've made so far. I'd appreciate it if you would give us some kind of itinerary for the duration of your stay, so that we can make sure you see the important work that we're doing in the lab and in the field."

"My aide should send you what you need by end of day tomorrow," he said absently. "What I'd like at the moment is a bare-bones tour of the place, assess the areas that need attention. A man of your rank is far above that."

"It would be my pleasure," Vicente replied evenly.

The other many gave him a long, searching look. He remained firmly planted between Chen and Sagara, but he held that hard gaze, and he swallowed nervously. 

Chen strolled up to him easily, too comfortable in his own skin, too comfortable in this frozen world, too...  _something_. His gaze was locked on Vicente, and for the moment, he was jarred.

He was distantly reminded of that old saying, about looking into the void, because he was fairly certain the void was looking back at him. Chen's eyes were flinty, cold, calculating. He was being sized up by someone who could end him with a cross glare. This man was a natural predator, and he  _saw_ Vicente.

"I think Sagara will do just fine," he suggested in a tone that made it clear he wasn't suggesting.

"Sergeant Sagara has been out running field tests since dawn, sir," he tried, to no avail. "I have fresh officers who -"

"No," Chen informed him, moving that piercing gaze away. "Sergeant Sagara will be more than enough."

Sagara stepped forward and glanced at him guiltily, as though he was trying to apologize and reassure at the same time. "It's fine, sir. I have been stationed here long enough that I can give an adequate approximation of the facility to the general."

He nodded. "All right." It was not all right.

"Then it's settled," General Chen declared. He offered his arm out in a qrotesque imitation of a gentleman. "Shall we?"

The look Sagara shot him was absolutely withering, the likes of which his team had not seen on him before. Without flinching, he spun on his heel and simply... walked away. His voice, as he departed, cut like glass. "We'll start in the warehouses, where we house most of the AS units that are ready for combat. With such a significant demand, you should probably have some appreciation of what you've gotten yourself into." And he stormed off.

The general took a moment to process his words, at a loss for them himself for the first time. Vicente and the rest of the assembled team all exchanged the same shocked glance: what in the hell was that? It was more than any of them had heard Sagara say at once under normal circumstances, and there had been steel in his tone.

"Yep," the general said after a moment, and to no one at all, "I probably deserved that."

There was a hitch in Sagara's step, but he continued his trek to the warehouse district without another word. General Chen sighed and set out behind him, as though he'd completely forgotten there were six other people standing around.

He let Amari guide him away by the elbow. "What four-star general haven't we met?" he asked quietly. "When our initial team was assembled, we were paraded from one department to the next, and we shook everyone's hand. Did we ever shake his hand?"

Amari stared at him. "Are you joking? You expect me to remember every general we met on our introductory tour?"

"I'd remember that guy," he murmured. "There's something off about him... and the way he fixated on Sagara..."

"He didn't fixate on Sagara," Amari told him flatly. "You did. I wouldn't worry too much if I were you, but I know you will, because when it comes to Sagara, you've completely lost objectivity."

"I haven't," he snapped. "I just have a bad feeling."

"I know you mean well," Amari sighed. "But Sagara doesn't want you to protect him, and he definitely doesn't need you to."

*

Sousuke stormed ahead without missing another step, his hands clenched tightly behind his back, determined to make it to the storage hangars before he shattered into a million deadly shards and did real, permanent damage.

There were no calls to slow down, or hang on, or - the worst - _can we talk first_. Not that those words had ever been spoken, of course. These roiling emotions were foreign to him, and he hated them, and he tended to shoot the things he hated, but he wasn't allowed to shoot without cause here. Every bullet discharged was carefully accounted for, whether it was a single one from a 9mm or six hundred from an Arm Slave.

He entered the first warehouse he could reach, swiped his access card like it had insulted his mother, and nearly slammed the door before remembering that he was acting as a guide. So instead, the door slammed open and then swung awkwardly as snow and frozen air blew in.

When the arctic sunset breeze abated, he let out the breath he'd been holding, but didn't turn around. The door clicked shut quietly, and the outdoor ambiance fell away.

He still found he couldn't speak for another five minutes. He took a few steps and built up a tirade in his throat, and then he would start to turn around, and it would die on his tongue. So he walked, and build up more words, and before he could turn around, they died on his tongue.

But anger took over after a few of these cycles, and without a speech or a plan, he spun on his heel and boiled over.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "What are you  _doing_?" I - you - you can't just show up here like this! - why are you doing this?" he continued desperately. " _I'm here because of you!_ "

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Gauron shot back immediately. "I told you I would come for you. Here I am: I'm busting you out."

"Leave," he said viciously. " _Please_. If anything you've ever said to me was true, you'll just leave."

"Did I make this sound like it was up for debate?" he asked sharply. "I told you I'd get you out of here."

"Before that," he said angrily, "you said you had _a_ few files you needed to acquire, because you still had paying customers. I sincerely hope those checks cleared, because it cost you _dearly_."

"Kashim, you know how this goes," he began.

Sousuke shut him down immediately. "I _do_ know how this goes," he snarled, "and I am not doing it anymore. I am  _not doing this anymore_. I am tired - no, I am fucking  _exhausted_ of our routine, so I am taking myself out of rotation. If you are my only escape from Antarctica, then please just let me die here."

"Kashim-"

"I thought I killed you!" he shouted. "You put me in an impossible position, and I followed orders, and I thought - no, I knew you were dead, and you had - I told you I - you wanted me to say it, and you know I can't, but I still - I - you know -"

Gauron kissed him, and Sousuke shoved him away angrily.

"No," he snapped, "I am not simply here for your convenience. I hate this. I hate the back-and-forth, I hate being uncertain, I hate hiding. I hate what you do, and I hate that it makes me hate what  _I_  do, and I absolutely despise that you keep making me put you down like a rabid dog, and I hate," he said viciously, "how much I - I can't," and now he came up short.

"Fine," he spat, turning away and taking a few steps. "I never said it because I was always afraid of ending up somewhere like this, but here I am, and you're here..." He glared at the floor. "You are the only person who makes sense to me, you are the only person who understands me, and I find everything you do repugnant and horrid, but you are the only person alive who knows me, and I don't have anyone else like me." Sousuke averted his eyes. "I love you, but you already knew that. Stop making it a spectacle. I don't appreciate it."

A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "I think that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a few official-looking forms. "Here. Happy anniversary."

Sousuke took them warily, flushed and winded. "What..." he frowned. "This is pointless. Even if I left this base before these documents were revealed as fake, I would never set foot back on land a free person." He shoved them back at Gauron.

"They're not fake," he replied. "They're the real deal. You're back on mainland detail, effective immediately."

Sousuke blinked like he'd spoken a foreign language he wasn't fluent in. "That's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," was the reply, "when you're willing to spend six months in Syria doing someone else's dirty work. Especially when someone else is a high-ranking admiral within Mithril's ranks, and the dirty work involves killing very nice people. Then it's incredibly possible to cash in big favors. How do you think I can flash all this general bullshit and set foot on a highly classified research site?  _Honestly_ , Kashim."

"I have already made it abundantly clear that I want nothing to do with you."

"Yeah," the internationally-wanted terrorist grinned, "you did. But you also said it."

He swallowed, taking a hesitant step back. "I was angry. I am still angry. I didn't necessarily mean -"

"Oh, no," and now two steps forward, erasing the ground he had so subtly sought. "You said a lot of things, but I definitely took notes during the part about being in love. Did you think I'd miss that?"

"That changes nothing," he said firmly. "I still refuse to continue what we have always done. That hasn't changed. You gave me plenty of time to decide that while I thought you were dead."

A shrug. "Then let's do something different."

"Like what?" he scoffed.

"Like," and another predatory step here, "you could stop pretending you don't want to kiss me. You could protest a little less, you know. That would be different."

Sousuke eyed him warily, despite his high blush. 

"It's a start," and then his mouth was warm and soft on Sousuke's, and rather than quail, he leaned in and slid his hand through the other man's messy hair. He licked into his mouth desperately, he gasped into the heat of it, he let himself be pulled flush against his partner. He shook a little, but this was the beginning of different. This was a  _horrible_ idea.

Gauron pulled away first, scrambling for air, looking at him like he might be a hallucination. "So you missed me, then. What makes this different from all the other times you tried to kill me?"

He swallowed down all of his programmed responses, emotional and verbal. He made himself respond.

"Because," he forced out. "I always had a good reason, I always had cause. And then this time I didn't, and I pulled the trigger anyway."

"Hm." Then he was being kissed again, hot and open-mouthed and messy, calloused hands rucking up his shirt to find skin. He pressed in, and his hips -  _filthy traitors_ \- rocked against the other man's, a plea met with an answering hardness.

A low laugh rumbled against his mouth. "You don't say."

He jerked back, alarmed and guilty and embarrassed, scrambling for composure. "No, I - I can't. Not here."

"Kashim -"

He spun and raked a hand through his hair. "I have to get back," he murmured to no one in particular, pacing at the entrance of the hangar but making no move to pass through it.

Strong arms slid around his waist from behind. "What did I say about how much you protest," was growled against his neck, followed by a mouth and a tongue and oh _God-_

A hand slipped down and palmed his cock through his pants, and his head fell back with a moan. "I had a lot of time to think, too," he rumbled, "and I realized I've spent the majority of this relationship accommodating your needs and making sure you're  _comfortable_. Turns out, I don't care as much about that lately."

Sousuke's stomach turned at the word relationship. "We - there are security patrols - if they come in -"

"Let them see." The words were hot and wet against his ear, and he was desperately rolling his hips into the man's encouraging hand, then rocking back into the waiting erection behind him.

"They wouldn't even recognize you," he continued, his hands working to undo the belt and button of his pants. "Do they know what my name sounds like, when you say it right? Do they know how pretty you look when you say it?"

He jerked desperately as a warm, spit-slicked hand wrapped around his cock. "Oh _God_ ," he said again, out loud this time. 

"No one would recognize you, but they would all want to see," he purred, leaving one biting kiss after another behind his ear, below his jaw, down his neck. "Let them watch you fuck my fist and beg me for more." He pressed his own erection into Sousuke's back as he talked. "Out of control, wanting, seeing what I see now..." He set his chin on Sousuke's shoulder, watching his hand work his cock perfectly. "How my name sounds when you're begging me."

" _Fuck_ ," Sousuke gasped, grabbing his hand as he thrust into it.

"Do you want me to stop?" Gauron mouthed into his skin. "Tell me you don't."

"N-no-  _oh_ ," he keened. "No, don't stop-" It was so much, almost  _too_ much. He looked down, saw his big hand pull every desperate noise out of him, made a few more as he closed his eyes and rode pure sensation. He set his jaw and grasped at the body behind him, rolling his backside against the other man's cock. The answering growl went right to his core, and he made some desperate noise that was swallowed by an awkward, messy kiss.

"I saw how your sweet little engineer looked at you," Gauron snarled softly, right into his ear, the twist of his wrist unforgiving. Sousuke's whole body writhed  silently for more. "He wants to do what I'm doing, right now. He wants to put his hands on you and undo you. He wants to look down and see how nice his fingers look, wrapped around your gorgeous cock.

"Did you let him fuck you?" And this was asked with as much anger as arousal. His free hand left Sousuke's hip and closed around his throat, gentle but pressing. "Did you come for him, like you do for me?"

He swallowed around the new pressure, sucking in as much air as his lungs would allow, tilting his head back, asking. He lessened his grip on the other man's hand, entrusting him with his pleasure and being rewarded immediately. "No," he managed softly, "no one -"

"You never let him touch you?" he continued. "Kiss you, suck him down like you do me," he hissed, every one of his muscles tightening. "Never let him put his hands on you, never fucked his hand like you're fucking mine."

As if to demonstrate, Sousuke's hips surged forward. “No," he swore, half-begging. "No, I never - no one else, I wouldn't-"

"You never came for him," he growled, twisting his grip, matching Sousuke's shallow thrusts perfectly. It was too much. It was perfect. 

"Just you," he tried to say.

"Come for me now, Kashim," he commanded, and it was over. He held the other man's hand still and thrust into it twice, three times, and he was coming with his name on his lips, coming because he was allowed to, because he fucking  _needed_. Release washed over him and he cried out, and he felt  _so much._

"Come on, honey," he murmured into his ear, "I have you. You're good, you're so good for me." His hand slowed on his cock, pulling every last bit from him with aching carefulness.

Sousuke let the motions slow, let himself get cleaned up, thought  _Thank God I'm wearing black_ , thought  _oh shit_ , thought  _I'm going home_ , thought  _OH SHIT_ -

And like anyone having an existential crisis would, he turned around and started undoing the other man's belt. "You - you didn't -" he began, glancing up at him, tugging at the belt to finish his sentence in a surprising fit of shyness.

"Kashim." A hard kiss now, thorough and searching. "It'll keep," he promised, "don't worry."

Sousuke frowned. "But -"

"I'm going to fuck you tonight," he promised, his voice low. "I can wait. Christ, I've waited three years, a few more hours won't kill me."

"Wait," he cut in. "If that was your goal from the beginning, why even risk this in a public place? Why bother?"

Gauron grinned and drew him in for another kiss. "That was just to take the edge off," he said into his mouth, his words swallowed by Sousuke's lack of interest in them.

"Also," he admitted when they broke apart for air, "you surprised me, I won't lie. I sort of expected you to yell, posture, tell me how wrong we are, cry about rules... honestly, I'm so used to your tortured make-out sessions, I didn't actually prepare for this. And," he added with a wicked grin, "I definitely didn't expect you to be so amenable to how thoroughly I'm going to fuck you later."

Sousuke tried to find words - he really did - but the corner he'd painted himself into did not allow for them. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but nothing came out.

Finally, " _You didn't have a plan_?"

"Nope." He narrowed his eyes and moved back into his space. "Now go find your little engineer. Go hand him your transfer papers and tell him you're leaving with me in three days. And I don't want to see a single one of Chidori's scarves wrapped around your pretty throat. I want him to see you exactly like this. I want him to  _know_."

The command, in that tone, went right to his groin. Then he processed the words behind them, and any sort of blissful haze that might have settled over him evaporated. 

"I'm sorry," he began, "but I believe I just heard you mistakenly say  _we_  are leaving in three days."

"Someone has to hold my hand on the plane. I'm a nervous flier."

"No," he snapped, "you are not staying on this base for another three days. Your undetected presence is not guaranteed - Mithril has had your face on wanted posters for so long that they actually used to be physical posters, rather than weekly email blasts. You aren't anonymous for long, anyways," he added sharply. "You make damn sure of that. You have to leave. The longer you remain, the more likely you are to end up in a detention cell until further notice, and we do not heat those here as well as we could."

"There you are," Gauron said dryly. "I was starting to worry."

"About what?"

"About whether or not you'd been taken by the pod people." When understanding failed to dawn, he sighed.

"I don't even - who? - pods of what?-"

"Forget it, Kashim," he snapped. "It was a cultural reference you're ill-equipped to pick up on."

Sousuke bristled. He may not have known what movie or show that came from, but he did know when that aspect of him was being mocked.

"The next cargo plane isn't for three days," his international assassin continued. "There's no way on or off this ice cube until then."

"You have to leave before that!" he shot back hotly. "Any Arm Slave could get you far away from here, and quickly -"

"And how am I supposed to secure one of those, Kashim?" Gauron drawled.

"The same way you get everything you want!" He waved an angry hand at the dozens of Arm Slaves towering over them, spread out over fifty acres of warehouse. "You steal it!"

"Everything, huh," he mused. "Did I steal you?"

"Your credentials are fake," he hissed, "your rank is fake, and this character is fake. You are not a spy, you are not undercover. You are you in a uniform, playing a part that will bore you before your extraction, and your boredom will get you killed here. You have to _leave_."

Gauron shoved the papers back into his hand. "If it makes you feel any better, the plane on Friday departs at 0400. We can be in the air before anyone starts brewing coffee."

"And when I'm in the field tomorrow? What happens when I'm not here to play into this General Chen charade with a well-placed 'Yes sir/No sir' for plausibility?" he demanded. "What if someone asks you an incredibly stupid question like ' _how are you, General_?'"

A wide, frightening grin that was illegal in first-world countries graced his face. "I'll stay busy," he promised with a kiss, pushing at the papers again. His tongue played at Sousuke's lips briefly, but he pulled away just as the mouth beneath his started to open. "Now," he murmured, "I believe you have a CO to deliver these forms to."

Sousuke snatched them back, frustrated. "They're real?" he pressed, not wanting to believe it. So many times he had believed him, and been fatally let down.

"The admiral signed every page himself. He knew who he was reassigning. They're specifically meant for you. You're officially back on babysitting detail."

He flushed guiltily, because his next pissy question had pertained to who the admiral thought he was reassigning. He shoved them into a large pocket. "We'll see," he muttered, refusing eye contact. 

Gauron caught him by the chin, forcing him to meet his flinty gaze. " _Try_ to look happy about this," he demanded. "You want to talk about suspicious? Turn in your orders and look sad. Your friend Flores might think it's because you'll miss him."

Sousuke shrugged off his hand, annoyed. "Stop it. You have provided no evidence to support your..." He paused, eyes widening. "You're experiencing jealousy," he realized.

"Way to make it sound like an automated function, Kashim," he said irritably. 

"And what are you going to do in the meantime?" he demanded

"Oh, I'm going to find some place that won't catch on fire when I light a smoke. I'm sure one exists."

Sousuke eyed him warily. "This is not okay," he asserted, just once for the record.

"Nope," he agreed with diabolical good humor. "This is perfect." He strolled out the front of the hangar, a low chuckle following him. "All the ways I'm going to fuck you, Kashim. I'm thinking about  _all_ the ways I'm going to fuck you."

He stood alone then, frozen for a full minute before he made his own way back, thinking  _I'm pretty sure you already have._

 

 


	2. Why Bother Wednesdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke is bad at life, and Kaname hates puppies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke hates it when things get real.

Vicente glanced up as Sagara entered the mess hall and schooled his expression to neutral. He'd had yet to join the rest of his companions for a beverage, but now he walked past the banner that read "4077" and marked the official start of the bar and sat down beside him. 

"That didn't take long. Did he see what he needed?" he asked.

Some aspect of the question make the sergeant flinch and sigh. He accepted a glass of scotch quietly. "Yes. I don't know. I suppose."

He hesitated. Sagara's body language was screaming a million different things at once. "How did it go?" he asked after a moment.

Sagara sat down and ruffled his hair, trying not to look frustrated. "It went as well as it could have. It could have been far worse."

"What is the department looking for? We're starting to incorporate some real variety into the newer units," he remarked hopefully. 

"He... they..." Sagara seemed at a loss. "Everything appears to be in order. He knows what is required and what we have available. Acceptable inventory will not be an issue."

"Is he..." Vicente faltered.  _Is he here because of you,_ he almost asked.

"Sagara... Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked carefully. "Does the General's visit have anything to do with you?"

That was apparently a loaded question. "Miss Chidori sometimes tells me that I am trouble incarnate," he deflected. "Other times, she makes analogies about a puppy named Trouble that follows me around. She likes to inform me that he is the only puppy she has ever hated in her life," he added unhappily. "She is very fond of strays, you know." He sighed. "I suppose I am one of her strays."

Vicente sat back in his seat and palmed his beer. "Sousuke -" the name felt strange when he used it. "If you're in trouble, I can help. I have friends on the mainland,  _superiors_ who owe me a favor I could call in. I don't know what you need, but I have resources that can help you."

Sagara yanked a hand through his hair and did a very good job of pretending he wasn't about to snap. "I appreciate the offer, but I am not in the kind of trouble you think I am. General Chen brought these with him when he arrived. I believe I am in less trouble, conventionally." He pulled a roll of papers from inside his jacket and set them on the table. "I have been reassigned to run point on Kaname Chidori's security detail, effective immediately. I depart for Japan with the next cargo drop."

He faltered. "Oh. Congratulations, Sergeant. I know this hasn't been a dream assignment for you, so... I'm glad to see you move forward."

"This has not been an ideal assignment," Sagara agreed quietly. "But it has been cathartic, and I believe my time here was well-spent. I have needed the space to think, and running drills on a daily basis has proven beneficial. Perhaps if I had made different choices I may have avoided time here, but since I didn't, I'm glad this is where I was stationed."

He made a coin-toss call with his next question. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"May I reserve the right to decline to answer?"

"Of course," he said quickly, arranging the papers before him absently. "Why were you assigned to this outpost, Sergeant? You're the best AS pilot alive; you should be at the DMZ, or in Syria, Iran... there are a dozen countries that would start singing a different tune if Sousuke Sagara showed up at their front door in Arbalest. This facility is my dream come true, but I'm an engineer who gets to dream about giant machines and then build them. This isn't your dream."

"Perhaps I like giant machines, too," Sagara replied.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," he allowed. "I apologize, I dismissed you. That was rude. No, I... I don't actually know the answer to your question. I did what I felt was right, and I was wrong."

"What was right?" he pressed his luck by asking. 

Sagara's gaze was a thousand miles away. "I thought... it doesn't matter. Things change. I might not have made the same choices today that I made then."

His gut twisted, and his mind spun. "Sergeant..."

Sagara rubbed at his neck absently. He watched that hand despite himself, fingers lingering over a smattering of barely off-colored marks that hadn't been there earlier.

There was a moment when Sagara noticed that he'd noticed, and tucked into his drink with intent.

"Sergeant, can I ask you what's going on?" he said softly. "I feel like there's a great deal I'm not read in on."

"I'm sorry," Sagara admitted, not meeting his eyes, "but even if I was allowed to answer that question, I would decline. Fortunately, one of the things determined at my hearing was a gag order, and since I have no desire to discuss it under even the best of circumstances, I am pleased to inform you that there are things involved in your question that prohibit me from answering."

Vicente didn't miss the word hearing. "So you weren't sent here because Mithril wanted us to have the best resources," he sighed. "And here I thought our division was finally being shown a little respect."

"No," Sagara confirmed, finishing his drink and signaling Yeun for another. "I am here because regardless of what I am guilty of, I am still one of the best AS pilots alive, and Mithril's ambitions are not best served by locking me in a cell and throwing away the key. Banishment was really their only option." He put a solid dent in his second drink in one go, and promptly choked on it. "I don't often drink alcohol," he admitted when he recovered, checking himself with a napkin.

"I noticed." He took a swig of his own beer. "What brought you here now?"

"I'm not sure." His shoulders were set with apprehension.

"Is there anyone you'd like to call before you return?"

"I suppose I should call Miss Chidori," he mused, his next sip more careful. "I can never tell which surprises she likes... I try to avoid them. It's easier to do than avoid projectiles, should it be a bad surprise."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he segued back to more comfortable territory. "Well, congratulations again. I'll arrange a call to Miss Chidori before your departure. Cheers," he added, lifting his beer in a toast.

Sagara returned the gesture, although it seemed half-hearted and distracted. "Thank you."

"Another?" he offered, gesturing to the rapidly emptying tumbler in front of the sergeant. 

Sagara sighed. "No, but thank you. I... am not much of a drinker, I've never really enjoyed feeling impaired."

"Sometimes it's nice, after a bad day, although my brother over-does it at the holidays," he remarked.

The other man leaned back in his chair, contemplating his glass and the universe. "I over-did it once, years ago. I was very young, and I had stolen a bottle of something disgusting from the last village we passed through. I waited for everyone else to fall asleep and I drank the whole thing that night."

"Rough morning?" he guessed.

"That is certainly one way to put it, he said dryly. "Our camp was raided before dawn - nomads looking for guns, money, anything they could sell. I could barely stand up, I was so drunk, let alone defend myself or fight. I was shot - " he tapped a spot beneath his ribs, "from behind by someone younger than I was. I had to be carried to safety in the middle of a firefight. The man who helped me was shot as well... I survived my injuries, but he did not."

Vicente stared at him, processing the story. "That's really not the response I was expecting, Sergeant. You seem to have a knack for that."

He gave a half-shrug. "It pertained to my aversion to intoxication. I appreciate your offer, but I believe two drinks will be enough liquid courage for me." He finished his drink and stood. "That is what they call it, yes? When a person drinks alcohol so that they can blame intoxication for doing something they could possibly regret?"

Vicente kept staring. "That's a pretty close approximation, yes."

He considered. "Very well. Good night, sir."

Vicente got another beer and thought about what in the hell had just happened for the rest of the night.

*

Sousuke made a lot of detours as he retreated to his quarters. His mind was on the other side of the planet, in the desert, where things made sense and he didn't feel like every choice - yes, no, and in between - was the wrong one.

He no longer knew what was going to happen anymore. He was a creature of habit, who liked to exist in a world of rules and structure, who liked to know what was behind the next door before he opened it. Now he didn't even know what was behind his own door.

He had been a good soldier. He had flourished within the organized day-to-day routine of Mithril. He saluted his superiors, he never protested an assignment, he was always early, he made decisions in the best interests of the many rather than himself. He had done exactly what he was supposed to do his entire life (with a few exceptions), he had pulled the trigger every time. He did as he was told whether he liked it or not. He was a good company man.

Yet here he was, and here was his reward for years of sacrifice and obedience. 

*

Sousuke came again twice that night. 

The door had barely clicked shut behind him, and Gauron was _on_ him.

"How-" he didn't get a chance to finish.

"General," he reminded him, stripping him with intent. "I have _access codes._ " There wasn't much coherent speech after that. And he had never gotten undressed so quickly in his life, even when his actual clothes had been on fire. 

There wasn't a great deal of kissing now; this was Sousuke pushing past the phony uniform and ripping the undershirt over the other man's head, then attacking his belt. Then, of course, there was the moment where his own pants were being shoved past his hips, and he tripped when he tried to step out of them with his shoes on. The instant all clothes hit the floor, he was thrown face-first onto the bed.

The first time he came, his knees were tucked under him, his elbows held him just above the mattress, and he was being fucked open with two fingers and a tongue, which was strange. It was warm and wet and different, licking into him with hot insistence. He squirmed away at first, but a firm hand on his hip kept him in place, and as he relaxed into it, his body began to welcome it. Sweat beaded between his shoulder blades, and he found himself thrusting back into it, and before he could even take himself in hand, his orgasm punched its way out of him. He came with a shout, shocked enough that he scrambled away from the sensation and looked over his shoulder.

The look of satisfaction and need on his face as Sousuke sucked air into his lungs desperately made his heart race. He grinned wickedly. "I'm not done yet, Kashim," he purred, advancing on him like a tiger. "You're still too tight."

"No," he said breathlessly, "I don't _care_. I need..."

"What do you need?" he demanded. " _Say_ it."

"You," he said, so quietly it was almost lost between them. "I need you."

The second time he came, he sighed into the crook of his arm silently as he rocked into his own hand, his whole body on fire.

This was not the sweet lovemaking of newlyweds, or first dates. There were no kind words whispered, or gentle caresses. This was Gauron lifting his hips, settling between his knees as he slicked himself up and pushed in with one slow, firm thrust. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed, stilling as he bottomed out.

The pace was punishing. Gauron dug his fingers into his hips, holding them up, using the leverage to pull Sousuke to him with every stroke, fucking him with the one-minded determination he only had when something  _mattered_. 

And fuck him he did, every thrust deep and perfect, and after their bodies adjusted, every one hit home. His legs trembled as they held him up, weak after his first orgasm. He reached down as his cock stirred again, starting slow, working it gently in time with the other man's efforts. A fire very deep in his belly flared up, and he ducked his head and closed his eyes, focusing only on the feeling of being filled completely, letting sensation wash over him every time that cock hit  _that_ spot.

"Fuck -  _fuck_ , Kashim," he gasped, his voice rough and his movements erratic. They sank further as Sousuke's knees slid further apart on the sheets, and despite the precarious position, he moved his body into each thrust, and pulled away to push into his hand. Expletives and moans and nonsense caught in his throat.

He loved how his name sounded when Gauron said it - how he savored it, his voice as he growled it, rolled it around on his tongue like he was the only one allowed to say it. But the way he said his name  _now_ , like _this_ , the way it was ripped from his throat as he rode him - he'd never heard  _this_  voice before, and to hear his name -

He dropped his head down and worked his hips, and felt the other man's rigorous pace stutter. "Please," he said softly.

" _Goddamn_  it." There was an edge of desperation to his voice. "Kashim."

He said it as he pushed back in, just as he tagged that perfect angle again, and Sousuke sighed as he came over his own fingers, his whole body rippling with pleasure, one knee sliding completely out from under him. One hand fell away from his hip as his partner slipped down with him, chest nearly flush against his back, and he thrust another three times before Sousuke felt the shift, felt his breath hitch, felt his climax as it hit. Every stroke felt like it was his last one, and he tilted his hips and invited it.

As everything slowed, as they both caught their breath, as he groaned when his partner slid out of him, he relished the kisses dropped across his sweaty back.

He was still for a few minutes - they both were, and neither of them said a word. The air cooled the sweat on his skin, and he didn't think too hard about anything. But he got up eventually and slipped into the bathroom for maintenance purposes. 

He emerged with a warm wash cloth for his partner, unconcerned with his nudity. But then, he had never cared about that, in the bedroom or the field.

He was smoking a cigarette, and took the cloth absently.

"Put that out," Sousuke snapped, sliding back into the bed. "It's a non-smoking facility."

"You know, I start to worry that you've been possessed, but then you say things like that," he said dryly, "and I feel better."

Sousuke sighed and stared at the ceiling, his words failing him again.

"You taste like scotch," Gauron remarked, adjusting so he could look freely, touch freely.

"Yes. I wanted to be able to blame this on alcohol in case I regretted my actions," he admitted without pause. "I went to the 4077 and had a reasonable amount to drink."

"And are you going to blame alcohol now?" His voice was low and carried an edge.

"No," he replied without hesitation. "Perhaps if I were not stationed in Antarctica without good cause, if no one had tried to slap me with a court martial, if I did not witness my good name get dragged through the mud, if I had not literally been called a traitor and a whore in front of a military tribunal," and now his tone was the one that cut deep, "I might have tried to lie and obfuscate in this instance. But all of those things happened, and so on that basis, I do not give a shit. I said no to everything because it was frowned upon by Mithril, and I ended up here anyways. I am incredibly tired of bullshit. So no, I did not get drunk and fall prey to your advances. I had cocktails in the mess, as is my right, and then I asked you to fuck me."

Some part of this tirade had put a hungry look in Gauron's eyes. "I think you begged me at one point," he rumbled.

"I did not beg," Sousuke replied evenly. "I asked nicely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in later this week, when Sousuke's day just gets better.


	3. Throw the Baby Out With the Bathwater Thursdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke plays along for five hot minutes.

Vicente watched the twilight zone unfold around him like he was in... well, the  _Twilight Zone_.

It started slowly. It started with a video call to Kaname Chidori, the teenager who had turned his theoretical dreams into reality. It did not go as expected.

He normally liked making these calls. They were traditionally the job of lesser staff, but informing Miss Chidori that she would be receiving a classified email with a link to a secured video line, personally, was a glimpse into the mysterious sergeant's life before the South Pole.

Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion today. "I just talked to Sousuke last month," she told him haughtily, "and you all only let him call me every three months. What's different?"

"Nothing," he started, only to get cut off.

"Oh, jeez," she groaned, " _now_ what has he done?"

He blinked in surprise. "Nothing, Miss Chidori, we just thought -"

"You Mithril guys, you don't think," she cut him off angrily. "Not the nice ones like you, anyways. If you had been one of the thinkers, Sousuke would still be here making my life miserable. But instead he's stuck down there doing kid stuff, and it's all because the _thinkers_ had to know everything about him and they hated how he and -" 

She came up short, as though she had almost let too much slip. "They made him their business, and they punished him for it," she amended softly. "And they don't do nice things like give him a bonus phone call because he's been a good soldier. So, what has he done now?"

“He didn't do anything,” he swore again.

Her suspicious glare said she didn't believe him.

 *

It started when Sagara entered the remote diagnostics lab and hovered as he skimmed the itinerary. 

"It's your last field exercise today," he remarked. "Congratulations, Sergeant."

Sagara frowned. "Where are the new pilots? As they should already be in gear-"

"We - ah - there was a slight change of plans," he started uneasily. "Sagara -"

The sergeant straightened as the General strolled in. "Sergeant," he greeted, that unnerving grin gracing his sharp features. 

Sagara froze. "General," he demurred with a sharp salute.

"Top brass thought I should take one of these puppies out for a spin before they spend a lot of money on them," he informed his subordinates. "I agreed. And who better to enlist in that endeavor than the best Arm Slave pilot alive?"

Sagara swallowed visibly. "That is entirely unnecessary. There are a whole batch of new pilots who need as much combat experience as they can get - they can't afford to lose precious drills - no one can afford for them to lose a full day of training -"

"They'll be fine," he dismissed. 

Sagara shot him a panicked look. "Sir, may I speak with the general privately?"

He startled. "I believe that's between you and the General, Sergeant."

He watched them step away. Sagara spoke low and soft, his hands animated and his eyes narrowed angrily, and _oh_ , what Vicente would have given to be a fly on the wall.

The General was relaxed, amusement clear in his posture, and his responses were delivered with that same predatory smile. Now, though, there was a marked familiarity, so even as Sagara spoke with quiet intensity and gestured wildly, their gazes were locked together like the outside world didn't exist.

It escalated when a piece fell into place that didn't complete the puzzle, but fit so perfectly: they knew each other. It explained Sagara's apparent shock the day before, and if he put more thought into it, who knew what else...

This discussion concluded abruptly when Sagara sighed and made his way back to Vicente. "Commander," he began firmly. "I will not dispute the general's stipulations. If his department requires a demonstration, then we will provide it. But I stand by my earlier statement," he added, "and I feel this is a wasted day for the next round of AS pilots, especially since it is my last day to work with them. I feel that this is unnecessary and detrimental. But I have no reason to further argue my opinion."

The general grinned. "Reasonable man, this one." Sagara bristled.

It went from strange to suspicious when Vicente was poring over data and diagnostics as the two AS units clashed. He kept noticing how well the newer unit was faring against the Arbalest, and how none from this same batch had shown the same results.

As he often did when Sagara was in the pilot's seat during drills and testing, he tore his eyes away from the computer screen and rubbed them furiously, and leaned back to watch the best pilot in the world do what he did best.

Not even a minute later, his blood ran cold.

Because he had spent _hundreds_ of hours poring over all of Sagara's combat footage. He had a style - brutal, efficient, masterful. None of the new recruits stood a chance against him in their first bout, but they all formed a connection with their LAMDA drivers quickly, in the interest of self-preservation.

He knew Sagara's preferred combat style.

He recognized the general's preferred combat style, too: fast, vicious, surgical. Effortless, reckless, ruthless, deadly. His heart pounded nearly out of his chest as he watched them run drills, because he had only ever seen one person fight like this before, and he was  _dead_.

He knew those movements and attacks. He watched Sagara answer them precisely because he knew them, too.

He picked up the phone and made a call.

*

Even from a distance, it was clear that Sagara and the fake General Chen were pouring down sweat, and Sagara had the half-forming of a smile as he trudged doggedly towards the lab. His heavier jumpsuit was thrown over his shoulder, and he bumped into the false General casually as they walked, weary and comfortable next to him. They exchanged quiet words, and at one point, Sagara even paused to fix a skipped button on the other man's matching green flight suit.

He saw the exact second they both realized his firearm was drawn.

The general extended an arm quickly, pushing Sagara behind him. "Looks like we're busted," he said with a dangerous smirk.

Sagara shoved his arm out of the way, annoyed. "There is no  _we_ in this equation," he muttered, stepping around him. "Commander, this isn't what it looks like," he began.

"I don't see how that could be," Vicente disagreed, his hand shaking around the gun. "From my vantage point, it looks like you're colluding with a known enemy operative. A  _dead_  enemy operative," he amended.

Said enemy operative shot a glance at Sagara. "Yep, we're definitely colluding," he agreed with a dark smirk. "Been colluding  _forever_ , to be honest. I think the last time we colluded was about three hours after -"

The sergeant glared at him. "Don't make this worse," he snapped. "Sir, this can be explained. It's not exactly ideal, but he and my transfer papers come from Mithril directly."

Vicente didn't budge. "I find that very hard to believe, Sergeant."

The most wanted man alive who was supposed to be dead sighed, "Okay." Then, so quickly that he couldn't even flinch, three things happened at once: the man lunged at him and picked the gun right out of his hands, Sagara surged forward with a shout - "Gauron,  _no_!" - and the clip from his gun dropped onto the ground, bullets skittering across the floor.

"What did you think I was going to do?" he demanded. "Shoot him, and blow this whole arrangement?"

"You have a bad track recording," Sagara shot back.

"It's a track  _record_ , Kashim," he said with exasperation. " _Christ_." And then he turned on Vicente, now unarmed. "Let me guess: you've already made a phone call."

He swallowed. "I'm to detain you until an armed detail can be arranged to transport you," he confirmed, trying to keep his back straight and shoulders firmly squared. 

"Okay," he sighed, shaking his head and palming the back of his neck in exasperation. "I wish you hadn't done that." And, lightning-quick, he grabbed two fistfuls of his uniform and crowded him into the wall, so forcefully that he had the air knocked out of his lungs. "Here's how this is going to go," he growled, his eyes dark with danger. "That phone is going to ring in a minute or two, and it's going to be one of your superiors. Don't quote me verbatim, but they're going to tell you that your security clearance isn't high enough to go around asking these sort of questions, and that you have direct orders to let General Chen go on about his business. And you're not going to like it," he continued, shoving him again for emphasis, "but much like our sergeant here - well,  _my_ sergeant - you're not the type to defy a direct order, are you?"

Vicente glared at him silently, hating how helpless he felt.

He choked for air as the other man pressed into him harder. " _Are you_ ," he repeated, so low that he felt it in his bones.

"Stop this," Sagara warned angrily.

"I'm not going to hurt him," he growled, " _much_. But you know me, I just need to hear him say it. You're not the type to disobey a direct order, are you, Commander Flores?"

"No," he gasped, "I'm not."

"Good." His iron grip vanished, and Vicente nearly collapsed as he struggled for air. He would have collapsed if Sagara hadn't caught him quickly.

He steadied himself and removed Sagara's supporting hand, a little resentfully. "Is he telling the truth, Sergeant?" he asked, rubbing a spot below his collarbone that was surely going to bruise later. 

Sagara looked supremely displeased. "I don't know," he admitted, arms crossed over his chest angrily. "But I am clearly not the best person to ask."

The phone rang, and Gauron grinned. "I'll leave you to your business," he said smugly. "Kashim?"

"You may as well leave me to mine as well," was the tight reply.

He practically rolled his eyes. "And now you're pissed off."

The phone rang again.

"I am simply not surprised," he replied, his tone cold and sharp, "at how _gullible_ I am. I told you yesterday this would happen - you would get bored playing this role, which you _did_ , and that you couldn't resist starting trouble, which you _have_."

The terrorist/assassin/madman sighed, and turned that unnerving gaze to Vicente. "So, how did you figure me out?"

He nearly quailed under that searing scrutiny. "You wield an Arm Slave very distinctly. It's sort of my job to notice these things."

The phone kept ringing.

The man winced, almost imperceptibly, and Sagara spun on him.

" _Does that sound familiar_?" he demanded. "I told you it was a bad idea to get behind the wheel, I said you were too easily identified, and that was when I was concerned about some nosy technician  _weeks from now_! You got bored. You  _always_ get bored. I can't depend on any other force in the universe but your boredom, and so yes, I  _am_ pissed off, but not at you, because this is  _textbook_."

The phone trilled again.

"It is not my place to give orders," Sagara continued, "but would you  _please answer the fucking phone!"_

As if instructed by his grandmother and her wooden spoon, he lifted the receiver obediently.

"I want to be left alone," Sagara announced to the room. " _Indefinitely_." And he marched out without waiting for a response - not that Vicente would have dared one.

Suddenly alone with a lunatic and terrorist, he swallowed.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," the man sighed. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it ten minutes ago. Just don't go putting your nose where it doesn't belong." And then he left.

Vicente had nothing else to do but put the receiver to his ear and greet the caller.

It was his direct superior, and the longer he listened, the further his heart sank.


	4. Wait, Is It Still Fucking Thursday?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol solves problems!  
> (Said no one, ever)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna keep posting till I'm done.

Sousuke glared at the ice in his drink the way he might look down the barrel of an enemy's gun. He thought about Melissa, who would have felt the same way he did, but would have taken the glass and flung it as hard as she could at something solid - the wall, a person, it didn't matter. She would have felt better for doing it. He thought about Kurz and his East German sniper, and how Kurz seemed to separate business and personal so easily.

He fumed at the fact that  _he_  should have been the one to separate those two things without a second thought. He thought of Kaname Chidori, and all of the words and projectiles she would hurl at him when he told her, and God knew he  _would_  tell her. Not because he wanted to, or because it was easier now, but because he was a _terrible_ liar and she would suss the truth out of him, whether he liked it or not.

He was well and truly drunk when Commander Flores entered the bar area, and he tried not to groan when the other man spotted him and began to make his way over. He liked the young engineer - he understood what it was to be a prodigy at such a young age, and how the pressure from On High could be overwhelming. He understood how it felt to be socially awkward and generally rejected by mainstream society (although Flores had just been picked on from a young age to an inappropriately adult age, and Sousuke had spent his childhood dodging actual bullets and shooting actual people). So when Flores sat down with a drink in his hand - whiskey tonight, rather than beer - he sighed, leaned back in his chair, and resigned himself to his fate.

"So," Flores said, a little miserably, "it turns out our mutual friend was telling the truth. He has immunity until your transport lands at Cape Horn, and until further notice, his presence here is classified under the highest clearance. Even if I wanted to alert every active task force south of the equator, no one would respond. Every report I file will be washed out to sea, and even after you both depart, the three days he spends here will never exist. And you will return to your security detail for Miss Chidori, and it will be like nothing happened."

"You don't have to do that," Sousuke sighed. "Saying things like  _mutual friend_ , pretending this is a game of telephone gone wrong, or some cloak and dagger nonsense. He is no one's friend."

It frustrated him, the way Flores occasionally let his gaze linger for too long, or got too excited about some new field exercise that kept the two of them in the lab long after everyone else had retreated to seek dinner and other company. He was notoriously terrible when it came to identifying those looks - _I want_ \- so it was easy for him to play stupid most days and move on.

Flores drained his drink in nearly one perfect swallow, and his empty glass was replaced with a full one. "But he's _your_ friend."

"He is _not_ my friend," Sousuke snapped, downing his own beverage like he had a personal vendetta against it. "I don't even  _like_ him." The absurdity of how true that statement was, in addition to what a massive lie it was, almost drew a bitter laugh from him. "I'm not allowed to talk about this. A military court placed me under a gag order."

"Mithril just made my entire facility a gag order," Flores grouched, and not for the first time, Sousuke remembered how young he was. Then he remembered that he wasn't conventionally old himself, and realized he was being ridiculous. He was hardly a grizzled veteran looking down on today's youth from afar. Technically, Flores was the elder of the two. "I've seen all of the footage of your combat experience in the Arbalest. Helmajistan, the Behemoth, the Tuatha de Daanan... What in the hell, Sagara? Where did you find this guy, and why won't he just die already?"

Sousuke was blindsided for a moment, and the heat in his blood wanted to be honest with someone,  _anyone_ , even if just the once. His emotions flared, but he didn't answer until his blood had cooled again.

"Very few good things came out of the desert when I was younger," he said slowly, "and he was not one of them." He accepted the drink placed before him, even though he was about to hit his limit. Ten minutes and a gallon of water might save him, but he tossed it back anyway. "We shared a great many similarities in our upbringing," he forced out. "I was raised as a child soldier in the age of privatized military organizations. I was sent all over the Middle East to do things adults couldn't stomach. I was the result of an institution he'd been raised in. He was a Year Zero Cambodian militant. We had boths committed atrocities at ages when American teenagers couldn't even drive. Kalinin found a place within Mithril for me, and I escaped at the first chance. It is probably the only reason I survived Helmajistan the first time."

Vicente sat very still, as if Sousuke had suddenly forgotten he was talking. 

He hadn't.

 

"I think the first time we faced each other in combat, I was nine," he admitted. "It was almost comical. He snatched my gun away and struck me across the head with the butt, and told me I would be dead by the age of ten. When I was ten, the group I traveled with had made an alliance with his current companions, and he told me I would be dead by eleven. Then I strayed farther into the mountains for a few years, focused more on tribal rivalries than political ones. I stayed out of the fray for several years. It was Kalinin who came and found me, taught me how to operate my first Arm Slave properly.

"A great many things happened," he said roughly, "and by the time I was fourteen, I was a certified Arm Slave pilot for Mithril."

"That's remarkable," Flores said quietly.

Sousuke regarded the glass of vodka before him. It both called him and vexed him... He swallowed it anyway. It burned the whole way down, and nearly choked him at the same time.

"This is incredibly classified," he said again, hoping he could shut himself up by simply reminding them both of that fact. "Since I have been with Mithril, I have attempted to eliminate him no less than five times, and I have fully attempted to succeed each time. The implication that I was somehow complicit in his survival, or that my judgement was ever compromised -" he swirled the remaining ice around his glass absently. "I sacrificed too much for Mithril to deserve that."

His commander looked both wary and confused at the same time. "I thought this was all classified."

"Apparently your entire facility is classified now," he shot back. "I expect no sensitive information will leave this continent."

Flores flinched, put in his place.

"Being a soldier was straightforward. Ensuring Miss Chidori's safety was simple. Arbalest is just another extension of me when I operate it. The rest of it - the diplomacy, the politics - that's not what I was designed for. And so I have been here for a year while my teammates remotely monitor Chidori and I teach new pilots how to operate technology that we don't even fully understand, because I did exactly what I was supposed to do when the time came," he said wearily. "And now, this."

Sousuke pushed his empty glass aside and stood up, and realized very quickly that being very drunk in the sitting position and being very drunk out of the sitting position were two very different things. He wobbled, caught the arm of the chair in his jacket, and would have taken out the table behind him if a different chair hadn't broken his fall.

Flores was on his feet in a flash, steadying him before his balance gave out. "You ought to call it a night," he suggested, not unkindly.

Sousuke swayed a bit, letting the commander shoulder a bit of his weight. "I agree. I apologize for behaving unprofessionally."

"Given the circumstances," Flores said dryly, "I think we can chalk this up to a fluke. Let me see you back to your quarters."  
Now Sousuke made a move to compose himself, stepping free of the helpful hand and straightening his jacket. "I'll be fine, sir, thank you." He started to take a few steps towards the residential wing, and while his shoulders and torso moved forward as though he was walking, his feet dragged behind him and he started to pitch forward again.

Flores was there again. "Nope, you're getting an assist," he said firmly, pulling an arm over his shoulder. "Let's go."

He sulked and quietly resented vodka. The scotch had been far kinder to him, but then, he had consumed exponentially less of it. His mind felt clear and aware, and words were coming quickly to him with no barrier between thought and speech, but it was clearly not talking to his body. His feet dragged and stumbled with the weight of cinder blocks, while his center of gravity felt like it was being yanked forward by a motorcycle. And his words were slowing down, not to a slur, but enough that he had to contemplate each one before he spoke.

Flores didn't make a cross comment or shoot him an annoyed glare. He just kept Sousuke from face-planting into the wall a few times. He gave him as much control over his long march as he could, but was definitely present when Sousuke started to go down a few times. But he was quiet, and he was kind about it.

Sousuke punched in the access code to his quarters three times before it locked him out, and all because he kept hitting the pound symbol instead of 0. So he fished in his wallet for the backup key card, his fingers trying and failing to grab it without pulling out all of his other military ID's and dropping them on the floor. Flores caught his arm again and steadied him when he tried to lean over and pick up the wayward contents.

As he looked down mournfully and began to decide how he could clean this up with dignity, the door unlocked from the inside. He nearly groaned. Could anyone judge him for being so drunk? Honestly.

They both did a double-take when the door swung open, although for vastly different reasons.

Gauron clearly was not overjoyed as he appraised the situation. But he had changed out of his flight suit into a white tee and a pair of sweatpants that he recognized immediately. They had already been threadbare when Sousuke first borrowed them, but they were soft and loose, unlike his uniform, and had become unofficially his whenever they stole a day or two. Being significantly shorter than the other man, he had worn down the hem and fabric at the ankles just from walking around. Even now, looking down, the back seams had been walked off and never altered. And he was barefoot. It did strange things to Sousuke's chest to be here, with no one trying to kill him, with no orders to kill anyone, and see this man in his room, unarmed and wearing something that was _theirs_ , and barefoot.

"I am incredibly drunk," he announced, to no one in particular .

Flores, on the other hand, startled violently at the same time and dragged Sousuke back a few steps, fishing for his side arm (which he didn't have on him, because no guns were allowed in the 4077). "What in the hell - "

"The commander is simply ensuring my safe return to my quarters," he interrupted importantly, waving Flores down with a useless, floppy hand. "Because I am incredibly drunk."

Gauron's glare was directed specifically to Flores, calculating and molten. "You're proving to be awfully helpful," he said, the words beneath those being  _too helpful._

Flores looked at Sousuke with a bit of wild panic. "Sagara -" After that, it was like he had no words. He just kept looking back and forth between them, trying not to make the most logical conclusion. He kept almost saying something, and then swallowing it down. Sousuke felt for him.

"Don't worry," Sousuke tried to assure him, disentangling himself from his support. "He has tried to kill me just as many times as I have tried to kill him. I assure you, we will both be unsuccessful again tonight."

One of his feet kicked the other, and he tumbled again. The arms that caught him were not the commander's, and he allowed himself to be pulled through the doorway. "I'll take drunk duty from here," Gauron growled with tightly-reigned fury. "Take yourself away."

"I need to be certain that Sergeant Sagara is safe," Flores began defensively, "and at this moment, I can't -"

"Kashim," he drawled. "Your nice little commander is just making himself invaluable, isn't he? I think his hospitality is  _memorable_. Do you think he'll bring me coffee in the morning?"

Sousuke ground his teeth in a poor attempt to dismiss a tacky reply, even as he listed into his strong arms. "You drink tea."  The floor beneath his feet began to rock like the tide under a lifeboat, and he sank a little further into the other man's body. "I am incredibly drunk," he repeated, exhaustion washing over him like a tsunami. "Can the posturing and thinly veiled threats of murder wait until morning?"

"Only because I'm on my best behavior." Fingers carded through his hair, and he tried not to let his eyes slide shut. "Make yourself scarce," he added to the commander, who looked like he was still waffling between disbelief, shock, and general terror. "I have 14hours before I go back to business as usual. You're eating into my time."

"Sergeant -" Flores tried helplessly.

"The sergeant is incredibly drunk," he interrupted, "and you seem to have forgotten my advice about your nose, and where you put it."           

"I - I just -"

"I don't share," he warned. "And I don't like to repeat myself. So what did I suggest you make yourself, again?"

"I am in no danger, sir," Sousuke murmured, "at least not beyond what I am capable of dealing with."

"You could be less romantic about it," Gauron muttered.

"I am going to sleep," Sousuke declared. "I think. Please resolve this quietly, and without drawing outside attention." He barely pried himself from Gauron's vice grip on him, and stumbled into his bedroom.

He peeled off his jacket and threw his shirt at the closet, fell ingloriously onto the bed, and passed out.


	5. Feels like Friday (to Optimists, anyways)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The last time I saw you, we'd just split in two  
> You were looking at me, I was looking at you  
> You had a way so familiar, I could not recognize  
> You had blood on your face  
> I had blood in my eyes..."  
> -Hedwig and the Angry Inch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke is catching exactly no breaks today, but that's okay. He's busy.

Sousuke woke up alone, with a splitting headache and, when he sat up, the realization that he still had an entire bloodstream pumping straight vodka. Fortunately, today was an administrative day: final exit forms, last-minute packing, a physical that was mercifully at the end of his itinerary. His schedule was so distorted by the early departure the next day that he felt like he was in a freefall.

His laptop was chirping at him, signaling a video call.  _Chidori_. Flores had promised to get them in touch, after all. He scrubbed at his face with a new shirt before tugging it on.

She was in her pajamas when he opened the screen, her bright hair pulled back into a messy bun. Her new glasses suited her well, although she hated admitting that she needed them. They lent a sense of maturity to her that she had lacked before, although they did not suppress her habit of throwing things when the urge struck her. She had nearly destroyed her own computer on multiple occasions. The desk behind her was cluttered with her class notes and a stack of college admission forms. She had the pick of the litter when it came to higher education, especially considering Mithril would be overseeing her further studies (with strings attached, of course. They had a "vested interest").  

The hampster rolled happily across the floor without a care in the world. He wished he was a hampster in a rolling ball.

"Good morning," he said hoarsely.

"Good night," she replied immediately. "I was at the graduation planning committee until almost ten. Why do people always need _consensus_? Why does everyone have to agree on everything? Why can't nine people agree that a full 30-piece orchestra for the ceremony is ridiculous and throw it out? Why does one person's stupid opinion have so much power over one meeting? Because we're having the whole event catered,," she raged, "and a different band after the ceremony, with a raffle and a Most-Likely segment, and a Mr. and Miss Senior Class crowning, which is obviously going to be me, but we can't even talk about it because  _Maiko wants a full orchestra for the graduation march!_ "

"I will not even pretend to know the answer to that," he yawned. His coffee machine - one of those instant ones, entirely unneccessary to him - was directly beside his computer station, and while he considered it a needless luxury, he liked being able to make coffee from bed, and he reached over and put a tiny plastic dark roast in and hit 'brew'. 

"You look like crap," she informed him.

"Thank you. On those lines, I have been informed by credible sources that my response to you should be to tell you that you look more than adequate," he replied, "but that calling you 'lovely' or 'beautiful' would imply that I desire you romantically."

"And who told you that?" she demanded. "They speak your language. Was it Vicente? I like him. He's kinda cute, he has that accent, and he's totally not a terrorist or an asshole, you know? Something to think on. He's the one who usually lets me know when I can call you. Can you apologize to him for me? I was a little rude to him the other day... they just don't really let me talk to you that often, and so I figured you were in trouble." Her eyes narrowed. "You're not in trouble, right?" 

He felt like he could never really catch up with her when she was in this fine form.

"I am not in trouble," he allowed.

"You're not going to tell me that they've figured out how much of a pain in the butt you are, and have finally transferred you to the moon?" she pestered. "Because even being stationed on the moon couldn't keep your moody military ass out of trouble."

Sousuke rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I've been reassigned to your protective detail. I depart for Tokyo tomorrow at dawn."

A torrent of notecards tumbled from her hands as she stared at him. " _What_?"

"I have been restored to my former post," he reiterated, grabbing his coffee with a bit of desperation and taking a scorching swallow. It burned all the way down his throat, blessedly. 

"Are you serious?" she shrieked. "Oh my _God_ - Sousuke - _you're coming home_?"

“I am,” he confirmed. “I handed my transfer papers to Commander Flores last night.” 

“Oh my God," she repeated, "do you know how _bored_ Jindai security has been since you left? They loved frisking you, and then you were gone, and now they're busting everyone for  _compass kits_! When do you get here?- I'll pick you up, ohmigosh! What did you do?" she squealed. "Is this Mithril saying they're sorry for being jerks, or is it some reward for something super-military and classified? Why are they letting you come back?"

He didn't answer immediately - there was no easy answer. "I would rather explain when I return," he replied carefully. “But I promise, I will.” His hesitation wasn't missed. 

“Sousuke," said Chidori suspiciously, "I thought this was a secure call. Why are they sending you back, and what can't you say over a secure line?"

The bathroom door clicked open, and expletives began to build up in his throat, burying a very self-pitying  _not again_  -

His heart sank (and, honestly, did a few other different things) as he shot a panicked look across the room. Gauron strode our of the bathroom with his sweatpants slung tantalizingly low on his hips, revealing a mesmerizing and faint trail of hair that disappeared below the waistband, twirling a toothbrush between his fingers and grinning wickedly. It was hard not to stare. 

“Don't,” Sousuke said - begged - firmly, though it was unlikely he could be taken seriously, given how red his face must be.

That sharp smile deepened with intent.

On his screen, Kaname leaned in, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, is there someone  _there_  with you? I can call back later,” she said, borderline-scandalized.

He closed his eyes and tried to snap out of this nightmare. But that wasn't his life, or even the day he was already having now, because Gauron strolled over and leaned in to flash that  _evil_ grin at her over Sousuke's shoulder. “Good morning,” he purred, his voice rough with leftover sleep. “Kashim, I think the lady asked you a few questions, but I think we just answered one. Why is Mithril sending you back on babysitting detail?” He nosed at the skin behind Sousuke's ear and rumbled, “Because I told you I would come for you, and oh, _baby_ , have I ever.”

Souuke’s whole body came alive at that tone in his ear, but he stood up abruptly, shoving him away with maybe a little more force than was strictly necessary. 

Kaname, at the same time, lurched out of her chair as though he had passed through the screen into her own room, taking out a stack of folders and the entire chair with her. "No," she announced firmly. " _No. NO_." And then she proceeded to shout an ever-more emphatic litany of  _no’s_  with no end in sight.

"He has a toothbrush!" she observed forcefully. "And no _shirt_! And - and I have literally gone six months without putting a quarter in the swear jar - what in the FUCK is happening - KURZ!"

"Don't go far," he said quickly, "I will return your call shortly," and slammed the laptop shut.

"I'm starting to suspect that when you said 'let's do something different', you specifically meant me, and left yourself out of the equation," Sousuke snapped, crowding him  further into the room angrily. "I might not have conceded so readily had I known there was such a caveat."

"We follow rules differently," he shrugged, swaying into Sousuke's space and leaning against the desk. He reached over and plucked the coffee mug from his hands, and somehow the way he pulled the liquid into his mouth was obscene in and of itself.

"No," Sousuke shut him down, "you do this _every time_. Have you ever considered that the reason this doesn't work - the reason  _we_  never work! - is because of you? Every time some aspect of my life beyond you, which is most of my life, shows up - Whispered, Mithril - you have to be the force of nature that disrupts all of it, don't you? I want a normal life," he raged, "I'm tired of moving from one mission to the next, I'm tired of being a  _nomad_! I want routines and schedules and normalcy! You -" an angry jab of his finger, "disrupt -" angrier now, and with flourish, " _everything_!"

"We're not normal, Kashim," he warned. "We don't fit into a category like everyone else does. We're never going to have a joint mortgage and a lawn."

"I don't want a lawn!" he shouted. "I don't want anything  _with_ you, God help me if I did! I want you, but to attach anything to that is absolute suicide, and I -"

His tirade was cut off when he was yanked in for a disarmingly tender kiss. It was just a tease of lips at first, then a few feisty nips, and when Sousuke finally opened his mouth, a gentle press of tongue with a hint of coffee. He thought of the way the man's throat had worked as he drank it down, and he chased the flavor with a sharp gasp.

“Sousuke!” his computer screeched at him. “ _Shutting the laptop doesn't end the call_!”

He froze.

“Even I knew that,” his companion told him with a smirk.

“And you still- of course you did,” he said miserably, blushing like a teenager. “Get out. Go enjoy your last day as a four-star General.”

“Go drown a puppy or something!” Kaname shouted, her wrath muted by his tiny speakers.

“I thought you didn't want me scaring the natives,” he reminded Sousuke dryly, flipping the computer open again. 

“Go away,” he doubled down. “Let Antarctica fend for itself.”

Kurz had joined Kaname in the camera’s view, and was reclining on the couch with a frosty glare. “S’up,” he acknowledged, not even looking at Sousuke. His gaze was fixed on the other man.

“Oh, fantastic. Someone else I don't give a shit about. Miss Kaname,” he acknowledged, tipping an invisible hat to her.

“Die horribly,” she spat.

“Don't look at me,” he shot back, jerking a thumb at Sousuke. “That's his department.”

Sousuke dragged him out of range of the camera. “I would like to speak to Miss Chidori in private,” he gritted out, forming his words into the mouth that swallowed them, “and nothing about you is _private_.”

“You could take a page out of my book,” was the response, delivered with a tweak to his ass. He strolled into the bathroom, kicked the door gently, and turned on the shower. Sousuke took the three steps back to his laptop like each one was another nail in his coffin. He suspected his glare was not as impressive as Miss Chidori’s. “Don't,” he said wearily. “At least, not today. You may yell all you want when I get back, I understand you're angry...”

“Why?” she demanded. “What part of this seems like a good idea? It's only exactly what got you sent to frozen freaking nowhere in the first place!”

“It's complicated,” he began weakly. “Mithril granted him access to the base and authorized my reassignment. And in less than 24 hours, it will all be back to normal, I assure you -“

“You think that matters?” Kaname pressed. “That if you put an egg timer on it, you can do whatever you want until it goes off? How long has he been there?”

“Since Tuesday,” he said mulishly.

“Oh, so just because you have - what, 72 hours where no one is looking, you get a freaking honeymoon? _With that maniac_? That's not how life works, Sousuke!” She grabbed her books and stood up angrily. “I can't  _believe_  you sometimes,” she seethed, storming out of view. Her door slammed smartly.

Kurz’s face plainly said “hey, what can you do”. 

“I’ll talk to her,” he assured him. “She just hates to see you get hurt, and he’s really good at it. I mean, I can understand where she's coming from, but I get it,” he added. “Our lifestyle, Mithril, all that stuff, she doesn't understand what that does, or who it makes us. It's not her fault. She just really cares about you, bro.”

He huffed a frustrated sigh. “All of this is just... this is not what I was trained to do,” he admitted. “Teenagers, diplomacy, propriety -“

“Don't forget love, honey,” was hollered from the bathroom.

Kurz’s face darkened. “Dude, I'm sorry, but I still want to fucking shoot him in the face every time he talks.”

“Feeling’s mutual, shittier Barbie,” wafted in response.

At that point, Sousuke stood up and went to shut the bathroom door completely. “ _Privacy_ ,” he hissed. 

Kurz looked equal parts exhausted and riled. “I miss thinking he was dead. No offense,” he added. “I know you have this... you know, whatever it is you have, but I fucking hate that guy.”

Sousuke rubbed his face and eyes helplessly. “So do I.”

Kurz settled into Kaname’s couch and made Sousuke hold his gaze for a long moment, considering his next words, searching Sousuke's face. “Yeah, I guess you do,” he said finally.

“I don't want to talk about this,” he muttered. “ _Ever_. With anyone.”

“Mel’s going to want to talk about it,” Kurz warned honestly. “She and Kaname have been thick as thieves lately - I mean, they went to the senior fall formal together because Kaname didn't have a date, and not in the hot way,” he added quickly, “I just think she missed out on the whole high school royalty thing the first time. They didn't even take  _pictures_ ,” he mourned.

He heard the door open again, and Kaname raged back into view, cutting him off before he could even start. Her angry eyes dominated the screen, and the way she slid back in was Olympic-worthy. “Do you honestly not know why I'm so mad at you?” she demanded, her voice pitched low so it wouldn't carry. “Because I don't care about him being a psycho murderer, Sousuke. I don't care that he kidnapped me  _repeatedly_ , I don't care that he's evil incarnate, and I don't care that Chaos and Destruction are his middle and last name. He's going to be a murdering, terrorist asshole until you kill him. I don't like it, but I’m not mad about it. I'm mad because he leaves you every time, and thank God, but I can't keep it from taking a piece of you away every time. Do you remember what you were like after Mexico?” she continued. “Do you remember the three months before your trial, and how miserable you were, and how there was nothing anyone could do to pull you out of it? Because I do!”

“I was under a great deal of pressure,” he groused, “they were talking about a  _court martial_ -“

“No, Sousuke,” she interrupted him softly, the anger in her voice giving way to sadness. “He  _broke your heart_. That's why I'm so mad. He made you blow that place up and he vanished, as far as you knew he was dead, and you  _mourned_  him. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do but sit back and watch and buy you ice cream. He ran away. He’s always going to run away. I saw your face in Mexico, and I heard what you said, and I know how much it's going to hurt you when he does it again. You're going to let him pull you in and toss you away every time he feels like it, and I’m mad at you because I wish you wouldn't.

“So don't you ever fucking tell him that I know he fits into some him-shaped space up in there,” she hissed, with a wildly emphatic and all-encompassing gesture at his torso, “otherwise I’ll tell him he’s killing you at the same time, and Kurz will be waiting a thousand yards away with his rifle, and we'll settle this once and for all.”

He sat back, speechless. Even the unflappable Weber was stunned. “I didn't sign on for exactly that -“ he started.

She cut Weber off with a swift swipe. “If he hurts you again, I will  _end him_ ,” she swore.

And then, to his wrenching dismay, her gaze shifted to a point over his shoulder. “Catch that, you son of a bitch?” she said calmly. “I know people, and I have your number. You hurt him again, and I swear I’ll find a way.”

“Heard,” Gauron said in a voice Sousuke couldn't read. Perhaps if he had thrown a glance over his shoulder he could have searched that face for answers, but he didn't dare move.

“I'm glad you're coming home,” she told Sousuke in that same terrifyingly calm tone. “Have a good day. I'm going to bed.” And she ended the call.

 *

He got in the shower and didn't say a word. Scalding water pounded against his back, but it didn't wash away what it was supposed to. He didn't know how much Gauron heard, and he didn't want to. He didn't want to deal with this, or how much Kaname’s anger hurt, especially the fact that anything hurt at all.

He put on civilian clothes and deliberately kept his eyes down, and went to finish his exit paperwork.

*

The base was unusually quiet as he made his way to the records and personnel office. There was some team-building exercise going on between the engineering and tactical departments at quad 35 - universally considered the end of the world - and he was spared at least that fresh hell.

“Sergeant,” Susan greeted him sunnily. “How are you?”

“Tired,” he said honestly. “Ready to be back in Tokyo. You have my forms?”

“Right here,” she said happily, handing him a folder. She was like him, a transfer from London whose talents were better served elsewhere, but she had burned the wrong bridge at some point, and now did paperwork at the bottom of the world. She spoke four languages fluently; her Japanese was almost better than his, and her accent lent a musical quality to her words.

He took a seat and tucked into the forms.

“I'm glad they’re letting you go home,” she told him. “Whatever you did, it can't have been bad enough to send you here. You should be out saving lives, protecting people who can't protect themselves. That was what you did before, right? When you were keeping Miss Chidori safe from all those awful people who wanted to hurt her and get all of her Whispered knowledge and sell it?”

He didn't want to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. “One could argue that by introducing more pilots to the LAMDA initiative, I am protecting more people by putting competent men and women in the field who can control more advanced technology.”

“Oh, that's some bureaucratic hogwash,” she dismissed him airily. 

“I assure you, I am no bureaucrat.”

“Well,” she sighed, “at least they bothered to make up an excuse for putting you here. They just shipped me off. I was the best coder in the European division, did you know? My CO would come to me and say ‘Make me an application that does this', and I did. No matter how obscure it was, I could do it. Mercy, once she asked me to teach a computer how to sort  _recycling_ , because it was a waste of manpower and money to have actual people do it. And that was just a silly task, the real work is all highly classified,” she added quickly. “But here I am now, filing paperwork. I swear, I didn't even know we still used paper printers until I was here.”

Sousuke allowed a small smile as he scrawled his name at the X, page after page, occasionally dating and initialing when required.

“I know you won't miss us all that much,” she continued, “but we’ll miss you. Watching you spar with all those new kids, oh the  _spanking_ you put down on them! Half of them arrogant little brats, fresh out of basic training, invincible and cocky. Thing of beauty, it was, I'll miss getting to peek at the dailies. Not a single one of them were within a mile of your talent, not even as they were being certified and moved off to other bases.” And then she flashed him a tiny, secret smile. “That general, though, he certainly had your ticket, didn't he? Don't see too many like that. But I like your style better, of course. He's a bit showy for me.”

His hand faltered for just a moment, and he grew very still.

Her smile softened. “Don't worry, I'm not going to say anything. It's not my business. I just suspected. Does the commander know?”

Sousuke didn't look up from his task. “He has orders to let the General go about his business without interference.”

“Does that make you his business, then?” she asked plainly.

He rose and handed her his paperwork. “It has been a great honor serving with you,” he said formally, and walked out.

 *

Sousuke thought about the last few days as he ate quietly in the mess, mercifully alone. The ache every time he moved was a constant reminder of them, and the longer he thought about it, the less shame there was in it. Just exhaustion and a mix of conflicting feelings. A year ago, he would never have dared do anything to warrant this warmth that struck him. He would never have woken up to the knowledge that his bed wasn't empty. He wouldn't have wanted to - he had been hard-wired that way.

Cold air and isolation changed people. So did military tribunals, and career betrayal. They tended to inspire a bitterness that permeated to the bone.

The chair beside him screeched across the floor as it was pulled out, then promptly occupied.

He had to admit, the sharp cut and flair of a general’s uniform looked good on the other man. Unlike any other time in his life, he found himself extremely aware of his own desire, as though a dam had burst at some point and couldn't be contained. He focused intently on his food, which was a weak play, because all that was left on his plate were four peas and a scoop of creamed potatoes.

The plate was pushed away from him. “Have a drink with me,” Gauron intoned in a voice that brooked no argument.

“That's not a habit I want to get into,” Sousuke countered, refusing to meet his intense gaze.

“So you’ll get drunk with your little commander and let him pour you back into your room, but I can't even get a beer?” he challenged. “I'm seeing a problem here, Kashim.”

He swallowed hard. “Someone could see.”

“All they would see is that the nice general wanted to have a drink with that pretty sergeant,” was the retort. 

“Why?” he asked helplessly.

“Because it's different,” he shot back. “Have a drink with me, Kashim.” His voice was lower now, a command.

Sousuke’s eyes darted up, hesitant, and he nodded once.

The mess and the bar were both empty, and he accepted a drink silently. This was different, the air between them was different, and he was trembling.

“We don’t work because this isn't how we operate, honey. We aren't these people,” Gauron said finally. “These people are good at what they do because they trained for years. Your little commander was raised to run this place. Us? We are what we are because if we were born any other way, we would have been dead years ago. We're weapons, Kashim, and we’re aimed at each other. Fuck everyone else.”

Sousuke regarded him without speaking for another moment as the ice in his drink settled, and his heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was sure he could see it in his hands, hear it out loud.

He took a long pull from his glass and leaned in to kiss the liquor from the other man’s mouth, and was drawn against him immediately.

Sousuke broke away only far enough to murmur, “Finish your drink” against his lips.

A hand slid down and palmed his ass, the intention clear. His growing arousal rubbed against a sharp hipbone, and he choked on a moan.

“Never mind,” he amended, “leave it.”

Seven minutes later he was on his back, three fingers thrusting into him, and a hot mouth on his cock. His hands fisted in the sheets, and he thought,  _don’t come_ , which was proving easier said than done. It was like Gauron had heard the thought and decided to accept the challenge. “Oh fuck,” he panted, “your mouth, God, your  _mouth_ -” as his hips arched in shallow little thrusts.

He lowered a hand and threaded his fingers through the other man’s hair, slowing him down, but not stopping him.

Sousuke groaned as his cock was freed slowly anyways. “Trying to tap out already? You're young,” his partner grinned, licking a long stripe up to the head and tonguing soft, flicking circles at his tip. “You’ll be back up in five minutes.” He ran his tongue back down to his base, further, sliding down below his balls and licking just above where his fingers were fucking into him with ruthless precision and Sousuke thought he was going to  _die_.

 _Don't come_.

“Not yet,” he gasped, pulling his companion up to kiss him, taking his cock in his hand and working it gently, drinking down the delicious noises that were made against his skin (although the noise he made when those fingers slipped out of him was shameful). 

He swallowed and made quick work of their remaining clothes, and he would never appreciate how erotic it was to have a fully-uniformed general pin him down and swallow his cock until that full uniform was on the floor.

He was drawn in in for a wet, open-mouthed kiss where Gauron settled in between his legs and rocked against him, sliding their cocks together sinuously. But he broke it with a firm “No,” and rolled them over, reclaiming his mouth as he straddled him.

“Like this,” Sousuke said hoarsely, rolling his hips and trapping both of their cocks between their bodies. He reached over and grabbed the oil that had magically appeared on his bedside table two days ago, imagine that, and wrapped his slicked fingers around that cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the other man gasped, jerking automatically into his hand.

For the first time, Sousuke didn't rush to some sticky finish line - he slowed down and watched. He settled back on his thighs and saw Gauron’s face as he worked his shaft slowly, his grip tightening and twisting as he reached the head. He did it a few times, and watched ravenously at the way the muscles in his abdomen rippled with each stroke, his chest heaved, and his famous words failed him.

He continued, savoring how much harder the cock in his hand grew with every stroke. At the same time, his own erection throbbed, nearly to the point of pain, and he wished he had come down that fucking tantalizing throat. He shivered every time the weight of his cock brushed against his partner’s glorious stomach.

Don't come.

Sousuke raised up and guided that heavy cock to his opening, and the man's eyes widened as he sank down on him in one swift, deliberate move. “Kashim-“

Sousuke braced a hand on the headboard and shook his head, trying to mask a wince. It wasn't as foreign as the last time, but he felt the stretch and burn acutely, and he had once again sought it before he was prepared. This was going to ache for  _days_.

He shuddered out a breath as his body accepted the intrusion. He finally lowered a hand to his own erection, his oil-slicked fingers wrapping around himself and stilling. He exhaled softly once, twice, as he relaxed and adjusted. He worked himself slowly, keeping his release far enough away that he could savor this.

With a sharp inhale, he rolled his hips slowly, searching for the right angle, and when he finally found it -

 _Oh_ , a sharp noise was ripped from him, and he thrust against him again, and his whole body felt like it was on fire. 

“God, you're so fucking tight,” Gauron said thickly, his fingers digging into Sousuke's thighs as he fucked him. “Fucking  _hell_ , Kashim -“

“You talk too much,” he moaned in response, his whole body wracking as a jolt of pleasure shot up his spine every time he sank back down.

He told himself  _Don’t come_ once more, but it was desperate. He wrapped his fingers around his throbbing length again, already leaking with need. His hips worked down now with determination, and his eyes drifted shut. He trembled as he stroked himself, still staving off his own release with rigid determination. But he knew how his body convulsed around the other man’s cock when he was this close, he knew what it did to him - he  _saw_ what it did to him, those flinty eyes wide and nearly black with desire. 

Gauron reached between them, covering Sousuke's hand with his own, pulling a little faster, gripping a little tighter. “Come,” he growled.

“You first,” he pleaded, “I want to see you.” He raised his hips, almost sliding off of him completely, and then drove back down to set a punishing pace, and he kept repeating  _I will not come_ with the same intensity that he sometimes thought  _I will not die_.

That was ultimately not enough, but that was because Sousuke looked down at him and saw the moment his release hit, the way his lips parted and he arched beneath him. He felt the other man's orgasm spill into him, hot and perfect.

He rocked into it carefully, riding down with precision, and he choked “ _Yes_ ” when he came, a tiny allowance of something huge. 

He trembled as they disentangled, gasped as he found himself empty,  _shivered_ as he collapsed beside him in bed. The look they exchanged was stunned, Sousuke by his own boldness, Gauron by something they wouldn't name. They both labored for air like they’d been punched in the gut.

“Every time I tell people you're the only one who can kill me in the end, I’m being literal,” Gauron said breathlessly, pulling him in for a slow kiss, “so when that time comes, I think this is how I’d like to go.”

Sousuke let himself be rolled against him, sticky and sweaty and honestly, just _gross_. He didn't mind.

A hand slid down his sweaty back, massaging gently just above his ass. “You're gonna be hella sore tomorrow,” Gauron murmured into his hair.

“I look forward to it,” he said honestly. 

“And the next day,” he added, like Sousuke didn't know.

“Good.” Sousuke liked the thought of feeling it every time he moved, walking the streets of Tokyo and being reminded of this for a little while. He’d never allowed himself to enjoy it before, but this was some kind of thing that existed out of time, a moment he might never get again. He wanted to remember it.

They didn't speak much after. They weren't much for caresses or sweet words, but Sousuke did close his eyes and drift as he was cleaned up by a warm cloth. He relished the quiet attention, and honestly contemplated letting his cock stir again.

He was rewarded with a wet smack on the thigh from the rag when it did. “ _Christ_ , youth is wasted on the young,” Gauron chuckled. “If I was twenty years younger, I'd flip you over and ride you until you screamed. But now I'm just fucking tired.”

He was tired, too. “Next time, then,” he mumbled as his eyes closed.

“Nope, but maybe the time after that. Next time I'm putting a cock ring on you and sucking you off until you beg me to fuck you. And even then, I might not take it off,” he purred. “I may just tie you down and leave you hard until I'm ready to fuck you again. How does that sound to you?”

He rubbed himself against that tight thigh, but it was exhausted and half-hearted. “Negotiable.” 

“I’ll come in every hour or so,” he continued, his fingers tangling through the wild mess Sousuke called hair, “and open you up with my tongue, maybe a few fingers... might even swallow you down a time or two, just so you remember who gives you this at the end of the day. It won't be a whole day,” he added, “you know I can't go that long without feeling you around my cock now.”

Sousuke drifted off to sleep with filthy promises being whispered into his ear. 

He’d never slept better.


	6. Fridays, Man, Am I Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke can handle a nice plane ride. Kaname can hold a grudge, and may need to start doing some light yoga or meditation in the mornings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there... This chapter and an epilogue, and I'm FREE! And perhaps some people can scratch this off the list of "I read it like five years ago and it never got updated, so never mind."

Sousuke's alarm went off far earlier than he was prepared for. He was warm, content, and half-buried under Gauron’s warm body, a torso casually thrown over him. It had been an early night, but the 4am pickup was still a harsh awakening.

He slipped out of the sleepy embrace, careful not to wake him, and turned on the shower. The rest of him had been cleaned up, but his belly was sticky, as was his shoulder and somehow his hair.

Hot water sluiced off his shoulders, and he waited for the same guilt from the day before to hit him, but his mind stayed quiet. The shower head simply warmed his skin, soaked his hair, and swept shampoo and soap down the drain. No shame or despair tried to chase after them.

He took a moment, as he toweled off, to study the man still defiantly asleep in his bed. Long, trim, just a dusting of hair on his chest, and a pillow shoved determinedly over his head. Sousuke liked his lean hips in contrast to his broad shoulders, especially the way the sheets framed them now. He pulled on his clothes, not bothering to hide the way he drank him in.

Gauron must have felt his eyes roaming, because he rolled over and stretched. “Get your shit, go ahead,” he yawned. “I’ll come find you. I need five more minutes.”

He grabbed his duffel and his parka without a word, not foolish enough to believe that would happen - he was well aware of how these things _happened_.

But he shook himself, trying to dispel things like _a few files_  and  _paying customers_ from his head. There was only one way on or off the base, after all, and a terrorist stranded on a military base didn't seem like something that would happen deliberately. He reached for the door, but he also remembered 15 months of misery, so he ripped the pillow from the man's face and kissed him.

“Jesus, Kashim, I said it was only five minutes,” he murmured, but he didn't protest further.

Sousuke picked up his things and left without a word.

*

Commander Flores was in the mess when Sousuke walked in. He had a clipboard and a giant cup of coffee in his hands. 

He glanced up at Sousuke miserably as he approached the breakfast beverage station. “My inventory checklist costs at least three-quarters of a billion dollars,” he said unhappily. “It arrived on your ticket home, so I guess you'll be off soon.”

Sousuke started brewing a strong, hot tea, and poured himself a to-go cup of black coffee. “I'm simply a soldier,” he reminded his CO. “I'm afraid these things are above my pay grade.”

There was a beat, then Flores burst out, “I’m sorry to see you go, Sergeant. You’ve been an invaluable asset to this team.”

Sousuke looked down, not the type for mopey farewells (especially not from doe-eyed commanders). “Will you be at the runway when we depart?”

“I have to be back there now,” he sighed, putting a lid on his cup and turning to go. “I need to do a final sweep of the plane to make sure nothing has been overlooked.”

He threw just a hint of sugar in the tea and started another pot of coffee, which he'd never had a taste for until he'd been here. “I will see you on the tarmac, then.”

*

Gauron was glaring when he approached the plane’s loading ramp, visibly cold and annoyed. “Didn't figure I would beat you here,” he scowled.

Sousuke offered up the tea silently, taking a sip of his own drink at the same time.

His companion looked properly chastened as he accepted it. “Quit being so fucking good at this,” he muttered, taking an experimental drink. “We’re supposed to be a raging dumpster fire on wheels, remember?”

“Different,” was all Sousuke said.

Flores came staggering down the bay doors then, exhausted and haggard and maybe pissed off.

“This cargo transport is cleared for departure,” he snapped, clipboard slapped against his leg in frustration. “Sagara,  _General_ , you are free to make yourselves comfortable.”

“Commander,” Sousuke began, ignoring his foul temper. “May I say, it has been an honor and a pleasure to serve with you.” He saluted, a proper one befitting an actual officer.

Flores faltered. “Thank you. The honor is mine.” He stepped forward for a handshake, and he seemed alight with a need for answers. “Sousuke -“

A pair of strong arms snaked around his waist. “That's not his name.”

Sousuke shook him off, gently annoyed. “I further apologize for the disruption you and your team have experienced due to the General’s presence. He happens,” he confessed with composure, “and I'm sorry for that. He will not happen here again,” and the fact that he was no longer speaking to Flores alone was clear.

He extended his hand, and Flores took it in a firm shake. “You run a fine establishment, and they are lucky to have you. Thank you for everything,” Sousuke said honestly.

Vicente nodded. “Thank you for the same.” If the commander blushed now, Sousuke politely ignored it.

Flores threw a dirty look at Gauron, who ate it up like it was the main course. “So if you never want to see me again,” Gauron warmed up, “then you’d better hope you never see Kashim again, because if I find out you’ve come sniffing where you -“

Sousuke rolled his eyes and yanked him away (again, maybe with more force than was strictly needed), also not in the mood for a villainous monologue. “Shut up.  _Different_ ,” he repeated, an annoyed finger getting pointed now.

“I'm starting to hate that word,” his international assassin and global terrorist grouched.

“Well, it was your idea,” Sousuke snapped.

The pilot made a wide gesture, and they all took note.

“Commander,” Sousuke acknowledged, moving into the plane.

“ _Commander_ ,” Gauron spat with as much gusto as he could muster at this hour.

The plane eventually lifted off with only Sousuke buckled in, but the pair of them remained inextricably entwined.

*

Cape Horn came and went, and nothing changed. South America was next, and Hawaii after that. Another ton of cargo and debris was hauled on, but Sousuke found himself listing back into the same kiss that had started at takeoff in Antarctica. He was pleasantly aroused, but not uncomfortably so. 

“I thought you were departing at the Cape,” he murmured.

“Changed my mind,” was the reply. “I’ll pick up a job out of Japan.” 

“Mithril will be waiting. It's not safe.”

“Oh, I quit giving a shit about  _safe_ before you were born.” 

Sousuke let himself be engulfed. “I assume the pilot has been paid for the same discretion as everyone else?”

“When have you ever known me to be sloppy?”

“Right after I change the sheets,” he said immediately.

“It's not every day that you get stabbed with a samurai sword, Kashim,” he scolded. “I can't help that it was also laundry day.”

Sousuke ignored him and settled back in his seat. “Wake me when we arrive in Tokyo,” he yawned.

*

He had only declared he would sleep the entire time time to be obtuse, but when his eyes finally drifted back open, it was to the turbulence of a landing sequence. He jostled awake like he'd fallen out of a moving vehicle. 

Gauron was splayed out on the cargo floor, using a parachute as a pillow and smoking a cigar. “Morning, darlin’,” he drawled. “Welcome to Tokyo. The weather is a seasonally warm 76 degrees, with minimal cloud coverage and no wind. The Rolling Stones will be performing a free concert in the park tonight, so grab your seats early and keep on rocking in the free world.” He savored the smoke in his mouth before tossing out a pattern of smoke rings.

Sousuke understood exactly none of that, and his face said so.

“Fine, I was lying about the Stones,” he sighed. “And the weather. It's fucking freezing.”

Sousuke ignored him in favor of not being thrown across the cargo hold upon landing, which neither bothered nor inconvenienced his companion.

Mercifully, the wheels all touched the tarmac eventually, and when the bay doors finally dropped, he was shocked to see Chidori's bright mop, and Kurz’s golden one, at the top of the runway. She started dragging Kurz across the pavement as soon as they made eye contact.

He slipped from his safety belt and snatched his duffel, but then he was caught himself.

“My good behavior duty is over when I step off this plane,” Gauron warned him. "Understand?"

Sousuke swallowed. “Don't hurt them.”

Heavy snow fell around them as they exited the plane, smothering everything it could.

“If that blond bimbo shoots off his mouth, I'll shoot it off for him.”

“He won't.” Chidori and Kurz were getting close enough to hear their conversation, so he spoke quickly. “Stop kidnapping Miss Chidori,” he added firmly, because he knew it would at least buy some good faith with her later. “I don't care what you do in regards to the other Whispered, but I am personally charged with her safety and well-being, and my assignment to her has already cost me a  _great_ deal, so take her off your list.”

“I don't know, that could be bad for business,” he mused. “She's a lucrative contract, and what would it do for my reputation if I suddenly started making myself unavailable for good gigs?”

Snowflakes caught in Sousuke's hair, coating his jacket and duffel in a fine white powder. He found it oddly attractive on his partner, dusting his hair and shoulders like tiny melting diamonds. 

The snow made their world strangely silent, swallowing the ambient sounds of the military base.

"Besides," he added as Kurz and Kaname approached the loading bay, "how else would I get to see you? Between your busy schedule and mine, kidnapping Chidori is the only quality time we really get."

Sousuke swallowed. "Well, you could just knock sometime," he muttered, not looking at him.

That evoked genuine surprise from Gauron, who took a dangerous step closer to him. "You're telling me all I had to do for the last few years was just show up on your doorstep and fucking  _knock_?"

"No, the last time you knocked on my door, I pulled a gun on you," he corrected. "But perhaps now you could give it a try. That would be different, too.”

Gauron studied him for a long moment. “Really.” And he pulled Sousuke in for one of those quiet, gentle kisses that had him opening his mouth, slipping one hand into his tragic hair. Sousuke arched into his touch -

“Are you _freaking kidding me_?” Miss Chidori exploded, stamping her foot.

“Nah, they look pretty serious,” Kurz replied, deliberately toying with the safety on his service pistol. “No sense of humor to be found here.”

Sousuke jerked back guiltily, whereas Gauron began to stroll down the ramp easily. “Hey, Berlin Barbie,” he remarked to Kurz. “You see that divide between ramp and snowy tarmac?”

Kurz only dignified him with a glare.

“That's the line where my good behavior stops, kiddo.” He took a long step from landing gear to snowy concrete, and the moment snow crunched under his foot, he jammed his gun under Kurz’s chin. “So try me,” he promised viciously, pulling him close with a handful of fabric.

“Stop,” Sousuke snapped, and to his surprise, he  _did_.

When Gauron turned away, he was looking down the barrel of Sousuke’s own gun. It was barely an inch from his nose, and the safety was definitely off.

“If I were you,” Sousuke told him evenly, “I would take this opportunity to make a hasty retreat. Did you see that divide between ramp and snowy tarmac?” he continued. “That was the line where my good behavior starts, and you do not want to be on the business end of it.”

He backed off, hands up as he stepped away. “I love you, sweetheart, but I think I’m usually on the business end of it. Nice chatting with you,” he added, flashing that shit-eating grin at Kurz now.

“You could beat that hasty retreat faster,” Sousuke warned, his weapon still aimed with intent.

“Til next time, then,” he demurred, holstering his pistol and treading back. “Miss Chidori, I'm afraid we won't be seeing much of each other anymore, so can I just say... thank  _God_.”

Kaname’s glare was thunderous, and Sousuke realized wistfully that he'd missed it. “I hope you get violently decapitated,” she said firmly.

Sousuke sighed and shoved his gun in its holster, turning and storming towards the terminal to end this circus. He heard Kurz and Chidori follow suit. He had no idea where he was going, he only knew he needed to get there, because the honeymoon was definitely over.

He hated how he automatically turned around when he heard it - “Kashim!”

“ _What!_ ” he shouted, frustrated.

The other man was strolling backwards, hands in his pockets as he approached a smaller private plane. “Never forget, honey, you make my heart sing,” he called back with that  _goddamn smirk_ , and Sousuke considered shooting him in the leg on principle.

He spun away without answering, stomping with purpose until Weber guiltily pointed out, “Uh, Sousuke, we actually parked over there.”

_Of course they fucking did._


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not a love story.

Sousuke dropped his bag the moment he stepped into Kaname’s apartment, hit with the familiar scents of her perfume, her shampoo, hamster food, whatever she had cooked the day before (curry), and he leaned against the wall, suddenly unsteady. It smelled nothing like ice or snow, or exile, or betrayal, or loneliness. It smelled overwhelmingly like home.

She was at his side in a flash, even before Kurz.

“Hi,” she said softly, shouldering a bit of his weight. “You okay?”

His legs failed him, and she steadied him as they sank to the floor together.

“Your apartment is in complete disarray,” he told her from the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, I've had stuff going on, okay?” she said defensively.

“No,” he choked, “it's perfect.” He let her pull him into a hug, the kind he never would have allowed before he had been ruthlessly ripped away from his own life. He buried himself in it, and Kaname clutched him viciously. The deep breath he sucked in might have been wet and hitching.

Kaname’s arms tightened around him. “I didn't get a chance to say it earlier, because I was thinking about how many ways I could murder that asshat, but welcome home. I, um - you know, we missed you.”

As though summoned by the We, Mao banged the bathroom door open, toweling her hair dry angrily. “Sagara, I swear to fucking God, if I find out even a  _word_ of this shit is true, I -“

Sousuke didn't miss they way Kaname shook her head minutely, or the way Melissa downshifted at the signal. She sighed. “Welcome back, Sergeant,” she tried again instead, offering a hand to pull him to his feet.

Kurz, who had dropped off of his radar, pressed a steaming cup of sake into his hands. “Take a load off, bro,” he said casually.

Sousuke allowed Kaname to drag him to the couch, although he was about to snap under the weight of everyone's concern and judgement and _pity_. The drink scalded his tongue, and he swallowed another mouthful spitefully.

“So I'm not going to scream it at you,” Melissa began calmly, cracking open a beer, “but Sousuke, I am going to fucking lose my shit if you tell me that asshole showed his face on a fucking Mithril base and wasn't welcomed with a bullet between his eyes.” 

“Then I'm afraid you are going to lose your shit,” he said carefully, avoiding her glare. “There were mitigating circumstances.”

“Goddamn it,” she started, “You always have an excuse for him -“

“Mithril gave him access and a cover ID to be on base,” he said flatly, “and they handed him my transfer approval at the same time.”

“That doesn't excuse you, Sergeant,” she snapped. “Just because Mithril fucked up doesn't mean _you_ get to fuck off for  _three days.”_

“Hey,” Kurz cut in, “ease up, we all have our moments.”

“Do we?” Mao challenged.

“You know what? No one has  _actually_ forgotten your little KGB fuckboy from that one mission, babe, we just don't give you shit for it because we're all afraid you're going to hit us,” Kurz replied with a knowing look.

A palpable chill hit the room. Judging by the look on her face, the only thing that kept Mao from crushing her beer can on his skull was the precious alcohol still in it.

“That's cheap, Weber,” she said in a low voice.

Kurz didn't blink. “Speak truth to power, my dad always said.”

The standoff held for another minute, and ended when Melissa sighed violently and scrubbed a hand over her face. “I just - Sousuke, I've put a lot of effort into killing that motherfucker, you know? I really hate him, and I really want him to die, and I really want to be the one who does it.”

“Well I've been trying far harder for far longer,” he scowled, “so should the need arise, you can read my detailed notes later.”

Kurz grinned. “You came back with sass, man. I like it.”

Sousuke just focused on his drink harder and rose silently, grabbing his bag and beelining for his unofficial room.

Once the door was closed, he shed his itchy uniform and rooted around for something civilian, and pulled out the ragged sweatpants that he definitely had not packed. It made his stomach flutter in a way he would never admit to, but he pulled them on anyways and cinched them tightly, as they were too big for him, and pulled on an obnoxious graphic tee that was also not his, and hung like a tent on him. His whole body felt flushed at just the touch of them, like he was adorned in something secret and special. He tried not to  _glow_. He failed.

He trudged back to the main room. “Did you lose everything that fits?” Mao ribbed, trying to be nicer.

Kaname narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I'm going to burn those,” she threatened.

“I'm just going to say it, since no one else will,” Kurz announced. “Can we all agree that he went to time-out for doing something he didn't actually do, went ahead and did it anyway because why not, restored balance to the Force in doing so, and call it a wash?” 

“Can we agree to watch a movie and pretend this discussion never happened?” Sousuke retorted curtly.

“Oh thank God, yes,” Kaname groaned.

He sat down, and she hugged him again. Now he squirmed a bit, because  _honestly_ , he could only take so much. 

Something in his pocket poked him, and he pulled out an old receipt, the ink faded beyond legibility. There were words scrawled on the back in fresh pen:

_Consider these a loaner. They look good on you, and better around your ankles, but I’m partial to them. I’ll come get them eventually._

He felt his face redden, and Kaname plucked it from his fingers lightning-quick, her eyes taking it in.

“Oh my  _God_ , Sousuke, are you two thirteen years old in detention?” she yelled as he snatched it back. “Passing pervy notes back and forth? You've been gone for a _year_!-“ she grabbed the pillow beside her, the decorative kind rather than soft, and smacked him upside the head, “and you haven't learned  _anything_! And - oh,  _ew_ , Sousuke, that is so _gross_!” Another solid hit, and he realized that perhaps he only missed that impressive glare when it wasn't fixed on him.

“ _Goddamn_ it, Sousuke!” she exhaled furiously, grabbing the hamster as it rolled by innocently and storming off.

“Swear jar,” Kurz called after her sweetly.

“Why am I the only one who has to put money in the swear jar?” she shouted from the other room. “Melissa is way worse than me!”

“Because I'm a fucking adult,” the major replied, popping another beer.

A sandal came flying from her bedroom, hitting the wall beside his head, and for all her wrath, he couldn’t help but suppress a smile -

Not even when the other shoe glanced his shoulder. He was  _home_.

“Oh, this is _not funny_ ,” she snarled from the doorway. “And you know what? I _definitely_ didn't miss you and your crazy military shit and your _asshole_ boyfriend, and he is _such an asshole_ ,” this was punctuated when she chucked a box of hamster food at him, which he caught deftly, “why can't you be  _normal_?” she wailed. “Why do you always have to hold up the line at school because they have to seize, like, five guns and twelve knives and a grenade before first period? Goddamn it, Sousuke, they  _should_ deploy you to Mars, you moody military jerk, let me enjoy my senior year in peace -“ She pitched the full contents of her make-up bag at him, one piece at a time, and she came full-circle in her rage. "He's an asshole, Sousuke, and he's  _always_ going to run away!"

He caught her glare and held it with blazing resolve. “Did you ever consider that perhaps I let him run, because I trust he will always come back?"

Her trigonometry textbook clocked him directly in the forehead, and he determined that when he escorted her to school on Monday, he would absolutely be carrying two grenades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was that! Hope you guys enjoyed! Also, I will be writing within this little universe probably forever. And soon.


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